


Unknown Number

by harin91



Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Phone Sex, Prompt Fill, Texting, Tumblr Prompt, accidental text to wrong number
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-03-27 14:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19014685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harin91/pseuds/harin91
Summary: Accidental text to wrong number au- or, the one where there's an alligator in the backyard and Eugene gets the wrong textRequested by @anon on Tumblr





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Not beta-ed, English is not my first language**
> 
> I know I said I was accepting prompts for drabbles, but I just love the 'wrong number AU' trope so much my hands slipped and I produced this one shot (that could actually be longer, but I think I've managed to stop in a nice place for it to be still enjoyable).
> 
> I've added Band of Brothers’ Roe and Heffron as well as Sid Phillips. I love these characters and I support the fandom idea that Snafu and Roe could be cousins… it’s a very cute dynamic I love to write and read on some other authors' amazing fics.
> 
> Hope you like it!

Eugene is moving through classes when he checks his phone for the first time since early that morning and finds a missed call from a number he doesn’t recognise. He looks at it puzzled, trying to remember if he recently gave his number to maybe some college counselor or to the dorms’ administrator. After realising there’s in fact no reason why he should be waiting for a call, like any other college student would do he promptly decides not to call the number back: if they (whoever they are) were calling for important matters, they would for sure call back.

He forgets about it altogether and goes on through his full schedule of classes until he gets back to his and Sid’s room and checks again his phone to find another missed call from the same number and a message.

Confused, he opens the text to read: ‘ _That gators back in mamans garden she said it can eat the cat_ ’ and he pauses for a minute to figure out what these words meant and why exactly should he be concerned about this matter.

As he sits down on his bed and re-reads the text over and over, he promptly receive a new one from the same unknown number: ‘ _I know you like that fella but we needta build a new fence_ ’ to which he feels the need to simply reply with a: ‘ _???_ ’

He gets up and starts tidying up his desk and taking the books he needs out from his backpack when his phone chimes with a new unread message. He reads it immediately: ‘ _c’mon Gene it isnt gonna take long_ ’ and he double takes at the sudden use of his name from a number he is by then pretty sure belongs to someone he doesn’t know.

‘ _I think you got the wrong number_ ’ he types and sends, then quickly thinks about it and asks: ‘ _How do you know my name?_ ’

‘ _Cut the crap cuz_ ’ is the almost immediate reply.

‘ _I’m being serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who do you think this number belongs to?_ ’ he writes, growing more and more unsure about this being a simple wrong number situation as he figures this could convincingly be an elaborate prank played by Sid and/or Bill.

‘ _Eugene_ ’ replies the unknown interlocutor, quickly adding: ‘ _Roe_ ’ and ‘ _my cousin?_ ’ to the list of texts.

‘ _That’s not me_ ’ sends Eugene, relieved he has a way out of this sudden unintentional exchange with a complete stranger.

‘ _youre not Eugene?_ ’ asks again the other and Eugene could be that guy that stops replying once the mistake is made clear to both parties, but the stranger sounds genuinely confused and he doesn’t feel it’s fair to leave him hanging without an explanation.

‘ _Coincidentally enough_ _I’m A Eugene, but not your cousin_ ’ he replied.

‘ _shit sorry_ ’ says the stranger, and then the texts stop arriving and Eugene is left with confusion, curiosity and a pile of still closed books on his desk.

He scrolls to the top of the conversation to read the first two messages once again: was there really an alligator in someone’s backyard? Did alligators eat domestic cats? What happened to the previous fence and did the alligator have something to do with it?

On the spur of the moment, sure he would probably regret his decision, he types: ‘ _But let me know what happens with the alligator_ ’ and sends.

‘ _yeah :)_ ’ is the last reply before him and Unknown Number get back to their respective businesses.

 

Two days later he is grocery shopping when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket and he finds a request on Telegram from the same number of the alligator story with a picture attached. He opens it to look at a photo of an unfinished picket fence being built in a green backyard by a guy in a white t-shirt, with short jet black hair and a look of disapproval aimed at the camera lense.

‘ _thats cousin roe_ ’ says a message following right after the picture.

Eugene finds himself smiling, looking at his phone like a complete idiot while standing in front of the fresh fruit aisle. He types back: ‘ _He doesn’t look pleased to be the only one doing the work_ ’ just to stir a reaction.

‘ _fuck you I sawed this fence all by myself_ ’ is the heated response: ‘ _I am the carpenter he’s the manual laborer smartass gator-lover_ ’ then a pause, during which Eugene finishes his shopping and steps outside the supermarket: ‘ _told me to ask if youd paint this white or black_ ’

‘ _White_ ’ he replies, balancing the grocery bag on his forearm to hold his phone with both hands and type faster.

‘ _just like him. Are you taking his side?_ ’ he gets accused by the mysterious interlocutor.

‘ _Of course. He’s a hardworking animal lover with an annoying cousin. Plus, he wasn’t the one telling me to go fuck myself_ ’ he fast-types while waiting at the bus stop.

‘ _I like animals but gators re just dumb n useless_ ’ is the only reply.

Eugene thinks the conversation is over, but when he steps into the bus and finds a seat he takes his phone out of his pocket and sees another notification with a picture. This time it is of a fat red cat curled up on the photographer’s legs, looking smug while getting his chin scratched: ‘ _see this the lil bitch we trynna save here. I like her_ ’

Eugene smiles. He wants to indulge Unknown Number somehow, so he looks through his phone’s gallery to find a picture of his dog Deacon to send back.

‘ _This is mine. Most of the time he’s the one saving me_ ’ he writes, smiling to himself.

 

They keep texting.

At some point Eugene figures out he can’t keep calling the other boy (most definitely a boy, judging by the few details of him he could see in the pictures he sent) Unknown Number, so he asks for a name and the reply is: ‘ _snafu_ ’.

‘ _Should I really call you that?_ ’ he asks again, perplexed.

‘ _yeah_ ’ is the simple answer.

‘ _Doesn’t sound fair. You know my first name, I haven’t accidentally texted you and then left you with just my childhood nickname_ ’ he argues, trying to ignore any other reason why he would want so badly to know the other’s real name.

‘ _fine I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours_ ’ texts Snafu.

‘ _It’s Sledgehammer. My last name is Sledge, the kids weren’t funny nor original_ ’ he explains, for a bunch of seconds unsure about revealing his full name to someone who is, after all, still a stranger.

‘ _Eugene Sledge_ ’ writes Snafu: ‘ _mmm I like the sound but I like Sledgehammer more credits to the kids_ ’ then he adds: ‘ _Merriell Shelton_ ’ and leaves it like that.

‘ _Don’t you like your name? Google says it means “of the shining sea”, seems nice enough_ ’ writes Eugene, genuinely curious but also sure he is somehow hitting a nerve.

‘ _dont google my name ffs_ ’ is the immediate reply: ‘ _I just don’t like the irony of it being about the sea n me having seasickness_ ’ is the reluctant explanation.

Eugene laughs out loud reading it, making heads turn as he’s suddenly aware he’s been studying in the library. He scrambles to put down his phone, blushing furiously in embarrassment.

When he has calmed down enough and all the others students’ attention is turned to something else, he quickly texts back: ‘ _Can’t help you, mine means “well born” and “noble” and that’s exactly what cousin Roe and I are_ ’

‘ _fuck off. Noble my ass_ ’ is Snafu’s colourful remark.

 

After two weeks, Eugene realises he still doesn’t know much about Snafu.

All he’s gathered is that Snafu is a few years older than him, he works as a repairman and never attended college, he lives in New Orleans with his very numerous extended family (hence the constant presence of cousins and aunts in his stories), he speaks fluent French but only when he’s piss drunk and that he smokes a lot.

All the rest of the stuff they discuss daily is useless random knowledge that he knows don’t mean a thing and could all be lies, but he still store it in his memory as he tries day after day to figure out who Merriell Shelton truly is.

Snafu knows about him almost the same amount of informations: he’s and Alabaman boy from Mobile but he’s studying biology and natural science in Montevallo, he likes birds and flowers, he’s got a dog and an annoying older brother he was never close with while growing up, he shares a dorm room with his best friend Sid and he tries to keep his nicotine and alcohol assumption to a minimum, but he sometimes likes to pack his pipe and smoke out of the window on stressful days and he can’t refuse a friday night out with his friends.

Snafu is at times very rude, like when he calls Eugene ‘fucking hipster’ for smoking a pipe and not cigarettes ‘like us poor bastards do’, and apathetic, like when he refuses to wish Eugene good luck for his exams because ‘fuck luck, if you studied or not is what’ll make you have a good grade’. Some other times he’s considerate and almost caring, like when Eugene confesses he had been anxious all day and couldn’t study because back home his dad had had to take Deacon to the vet for a small surgery. Snafu textes he’s sorry and asks how old is his dog and tries to divert the conversation towards dogs and cats average ages and Eugene doesn’t really think it’s effectively helping his anxiety, but Snafu is trying and he’s glad for it.

 

Their exchanges are always casual but they become more and more frequent.

Sid starts suspecting something is up when he sees Eugene smile at his phone while they’re out on a friday night with their college friends.

“Has Mary Frank suddenly become a fine comedian?” he asks, trying to sneak a peek from Eugene’s phone screen, which his best friend is quick to hide, waving at him dismissively.

“It’s not my mama. Why would it be my mama?” he asks defensively.

“Until one or two weeks ago the only one texting or calling you was your mama or occasionally your brother. Not my fault,” says Sidney, raising his hands in surrender: “So who is it?” he asks.

“Just… a guy I met.” shrugs Eugene, failing to hide his raising panic at having been caught.

“Yeah? Where?” asks again Sid, smiling knowingly.

“Uh, college? We’re in the same biology class.” rushes to say Eugene.

“Cool. What’s he into? Birds and flowers like you nerd?” comments Sid, clearly not buying any of Eugene’s lies but playing along just to humour him.

“No, more like… reptiles. Alligators.” replies Eugene and he immediately smiles at the memory of the alligator and fence story. Sid’s still intently looking at him and doesn’t miss the sudden moronic faraway look on his best friend’s face.

“Shit Gene, you got it bad for this one.” he comments, rushing to gulp down his beer as Eugene looks back at him in disbelief and then sputters: “No I don’t! C’mon! Don’t be a dick. We’re just texting!”

“Yeah, sure. Keep texting my man, see how that goes.” says Sid dismissively, noticing how their friends are coming back to their table after buying a second round of beers and knowing the conversation would have to stop before the others joined in and started mocking Eugene for his very obvious new crush.

 

Snafu sends a picture of the picket fence, all finished and painted white and writes: ‘ _peekaboo_ ’ because on the other side of the fence there’s the dark scaled tail of a huge reptile.

Eugene gasps loudly in the middle of chemistry class, and the girl sitting next to him sends him a look of pure hate.

‘ _is that cousin Roe’s alligator?_ ’ he texts from under the table, trying to be discreet.

‘ _not his but a friend for sure. Said the names roxanne_ ’ explains Snafu.

‘ _Did he come up with that name himself?_ ’ asks Eugene, curiously.

‘ _nah his bf did. Hes got a bf now that cousin roe ya know? Pisses me off_ ’ writes Snafu and Eugene has to suppress another surprised noise before the girl on his left stabs him with a pencil.

‘ _Why are you mad? You should be happy for him_ ’ he tries to make the other reason.

‘ _I am. Its just that the bf is a sweet tiny redhead from Philly and thats no good’_ writes the Cajun, and Eugene doesn’t have to ask why once again because another message appears soon after: ‘ _’cause I have a thing for redheads. Its pretty bad_ ’ and one more: ‘ _except roes bfs mild as fuck so this one he can have I dont care_ ’.

Eugene’s heart is beating pretty fast after reading this confession and he hopes the rest of the classroom can’t hear it as loud as he does because he’d surely be killed by the girl next to him.

He’s so distracted by this brand new information about Snafu that he forgets to reply and he stays in a state of confusion and excitement through the rest of the day.

 

He finds the courage to look at his phone again only late in the afternoon, alone in his room as Sid is at baseball practices. Snafu hasn’t texted again and Eugene is not sure if being alone is a good idea because he’s about to do something stupid he might regret greatly and needs someone to stop him. Except Sid would probably tell him to do it, go for it.

Before he writes anything compromising he opens his and Sid’s mini fridge and gets a beer: he has no human support from his best friend, but at least he can have liquid courage.

‘ _Would you make a deal with me?_ ’ he types, then sips his beer, then re-reads, then sips again. He hits the send button with his eyes closed.

‘ _got me thinkin I scared you off earlier cher_ ’ is Snafu’s first message: ‘ _what deal?_ ’ he asks.

Eugene takes a deep breath and lets out a long exhale as he types: ‘ _Would you send me a photo of you if I send you one of me?_ ’ and, without giving himself time to rethink, hits send.

He needs to see what Snafu looks like, he can’t wait anymore. But most importantly, he thinks Snafu needs to know how he looks like. For scientific reasons, of course.

‘ _yeah_ ’ is the reply, so simple it makes Eugene’s heart skip a beat: ‘ _how dirty are we making them?_ ’ he asks and then adds a winking emoji and Eugene wishes he could stop being this excited because Snafu is being so lame.

‘ _Make it something my mama could look at without blushing, so to start_ ’ he writes.

‘ _how would I know how spicy is mrs Sledgehammer_ ’ replies Snafu and Eugene is getting close to call the whole thing off before he gets another notification: ‘ _fine boo Ill be a good boy for now_ ’ and then nothing more.

While he waits, Eugene finishes his first beer and goes getting a second, before realising he should find a picture of himself to send back. He goes into his phone’s gallery to see if he miraculously has something saved there, but he doesn’t like taking photos of himself and usually avoids being in his friends’ pictures as well, so all he has are a bunch of group photos in which he’s always too small or too blurred or looking like a drunk idiot.

His phone vibrates in his hand with a new notification and his heart jumps in his throat.

‘ _please dont show this to mama Sledge_ ’ is the message that accompanies the picture, which Eugene has to open to see in full: its a selfie, a slightly dark and crooked one, but he can see the wall of a bedroom behind the subject and the reflection of a window off the frame. The last rays of light illuminate in a single long stripe the side of Snafu’s face, making his eyes look two different colours: they’re probably something between green, grey and blue, an aquamarine tone looking very much like waves on a placid sea. They’re the first thing Eugene notices of him, his prominent feature: they’re big and expressive and so very luminous. Snafu’s face is pretty and squared, thin but with a well defined jaw and pointy chin. His mouth has a uncommon shape, overbite slightly pronounced and upper lip fuller than the bottom one. He’s not smiling or frowning, just a neutral expression making him look almost sleepy. There’s not much else Eugene can gather from the photo: his skin looks tanned and his hair fall messily in curls of black or dark brown, he can’t be sure.

But he’s gorgeous for sure. Eugene almost can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t believe he put himself right into this mess, not only by replying to an unknown number but also by having to send his own photo right after witnessing how utterly beautiful Snafu is.

‘ _Wow. Okay. Please tell me this is really you and not a picture of a model you found online_ ’ he sends without filter.

‘ _calm yo jets Sledgehammer whats with comparing me to a model!_ ’ Snafu types back.

Then there’s a pause in which Eugene actually opens his camera app and tries to find the right angle to snap one at least okay selfie, but he gets interrupted by another text from Snafu.

This time is only a picture, one of him holding the fat red cat from their second exchange of texts. The scene hasn’t changed, he’s just pushing the side of his face close to the cat’s head with the angle even more bent because of the position he had to snap the selfie so they both fit into the picture.

‘ _think you remember her_ ’ he has added while Eugene was once again contemplating the new photo in a trance: ‘ _your turn boo. Dont leave me hangin_ ’ is the last message.

Eugene takes a deep breath and stands up, striding toward the room’s only window to try and emulate Snafu’s good angle with the setting sun. He takes a bunch of selfies and then goes back to the bed to check them out, see what’s the most salvageable.

He selects one in which the deep yellow rays hit his face and hair obliquely, making it looks like his dark red hair are catching fire, with shades and highlights of copper and orange. His eyes look a bit lighter too, the green parts winning over the deep brown but only around the pupil. His skin is still pale and he has dark circle around his eyes for lack of sleep and bad college student routine, but at least the few freckles still surviving on his forehead and cheeks can be slightly seen on camera.

He sends it, once again hitting the button with his eyes closed.

Waiting for a reply feels like an endless agony, during which he finishes his second beer in one single gulp. Might as well get drunk to better face an inevitable rejection, he thinks.

Except Snafu has said he has got a thing for gingers and that gives Eugene a little bit of hope.

His phone dings while he’s distracted by the thought of getting a third beer and he scramble to get it and look at Snafu’s fateful first impression of him.

‘ _fuck_ ’ is the only word on the screen and Eugene’s agony hasn’t ended yet because he has to decode what that means. Except he gets an addition soon after: ‘ _now I get it why you wanted pictures_ ’ and again: ‘ _fuck my life Eugene youre hot_ ’.

Eugene feels like he might pass out. Maybe the third beer is a good idea, maybe it’s not.

All he knows is that when he opens it and takes a first sip is when he decides to text: ‘ _Can I call you right now?_ ’.

‘ _you sure about this boo?_ ’ is Snafu’s reply and Eugene thinks that this boy is so strange.  
So crude but so considerate at the same time, able to sound mean while calling people ‘boo’ and ‘cher’, able to hide concern under a snarky remark.

‘ _I’m sure_ ’ he writes and sends and he’s about to hit the call button when his phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. Snafu is now saved as ‘Merriell Shelton’ on his phone after having been ‘Unknown Number’ for a whole week. His full name is now pulsating on the screen of his phone and all Sledge has to do is press the green button.

If he presses the green button, he’d hear Snafu’s voice for the first time.

They’d talk, properly talk, for the first time.

He lifts the phone, hits the button, closes his eyes and waits.

 

The line is silent for a bunch of seconds, but if he concentrates he can hear Snafu’s breath against the phone, wishing he could also hear his heartbeat, feel him beside him, close.

“Eugene?” he asks and his voice is wavering but it’s deep and he drags all the vowels for miles with his thick accent.

“Hey, Snaf.” he almost laughs, hearing Snafu’s intake of breath at the sound of his voice.

“Hey.” he replies, sounding a bit more relaxed, a bit more self-confident: “What you wanna talk about, Sledgehamma?” he inquires like he’s smiling.

Eugene waits a moment and then makes his request: “Tell me about that time you texted the wrong number because you had an alligator in your backyard.” and Snafu is suddenly laughing and Eugene feels light, exhilarated, utterly enamoured.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts with Babe's random suggestion and proceeds with the help of cousin Roe. Yes, it's basically all it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not beta-ed, English is not my first language**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for liking and commenting the first chapter! It was meant to be a one-shot (originally even a prompt fill), but with the help of some of you who sent me suggestions and ideas I was able to write a whole second chapter.  
> I'm sorry it took so much time to finish, but it came out way longer than the first part and I hope it's worth the wait!
> 
> Enjoy!

‘ _hatin on cousin roes friend rn_ ’ he texts out, tired of looking at the circular stain of condensation left by his empty beer glass.  
  
It’s his cousin’s birthday and all his friends have managed to come down to Louisiana to celebrate it: the pub they always meet up in, the Currahee, is packed full of loud voices, music and sweaty people.  
  
Snafu has stopped listening to the conversations going on around him a while ago, resolving to play with his phone instead, looking for an excuse to send a text and start a conversation without sounding too desperate or needy.

He ends up sounding bitchy, but at least he gets a way out of boredom as Sledge’s reply only takes one minute to arrive: ‘ _Which one?_ ’ he asks, like he knows everyone in Snafu’s small circle of acquaintances by now, despite not having met not even one of these people.  
Snafu sadly included.

‘ _all one_ ’ he types, repressing a sigh.  
‘ _but rn mostly_ _bad jokes and worse impressions one_ ’ he adds, looking across the table at his cousin, cheeks and nose red for having had too many beers and for laughing at his friend’s impression of one of their high school professors, Mr. Horton.  
  
An impression Snafu himself has heard a million times before and never found funny, despite having gone to the same school and having had classes with that same professor.

‘ _That’s sad. I was starting to like friend Luz just as much as I like cousin Roe’_ writes Eugene and Snafu smirks and downs the last of his beer to keep himself from texting right back.  
  
He has got a cool reputation to keep up with Sledge: eagerly replying after less than two minutes makes him look desperate and clingy and that’s absolutely forbidden for Merriell Shelton.

‘ _none these losers r my friends boo_ ’ he types and waits to send, looking intently at the tiny numbers of his phone’s clock and not realising someone has sat down by his side and is currently observing him.

“Still texting the other Eugene?” asks suddenly the Philly-accented voice of Heffron, startling him and making him almost hit the send button before the standard two minutes have passed.

“Maybe mind your own business, Heffron?” he retorts, sending one of his infamous glares at the boy sat by his side. It’s completely ineffective.  
  
Snafu suspects it’s because of two factors: firstly, Heffron is kind of an idiot, so he doesn’t really understand when people are pissed with him and secondly, there are at least three other people in their company of friends capable of producing the same (if not worse) kind of death stare, so by now the kid has probably become immune.

“How many times,” huffs Heffron and Snafu’s mind goes ‘yes, but mostly he’s an idiot’.  
“It’s Babe. Everybody calls me Babe. What’s up with you and Gene always calling me Heffron or Edward… not even my mom calls me Edward, for fuck’s sake…” he sighs and Snafu just shrugs.

‘ _I don’t get why you spend so much time with them, then._ ’ is Eugene’s reply, followed by: ‘ _Unless it’s another one of those occasions when you try to sound tough and mean to impress me, while in fact you are having fun._ ’ and fuck if this boy isn’t the most clever and just the right amount of sassy and the perfect amount of hot and if he doesn’t read Snafu so damn well it’s unreal.

‘ _Im mean_ ’ he replies, teasing and smirking at his phone: ‘ _n also bored_ ’

“You should invite him over to New Orleans,” suggests Heffron, apparently still not acknowledging Snafu’s suggestion to get off his back: “It could be fun.” he adds, lightly.

“Yeah, no shit.” snaps Snafu and Babe’s unperturbed smile despite Snafu’s sour behaviour is getting more and more on his nerves.  
  
How on earth could Roe, who despite the excessive cheekiness is mostly cool and kind of brilliant in his field, get stuck with the worst kind of brainless moron?  
  
It’s the infamous Shelton-Roe Redheads Curse, he thinks. It must be it.  
  
He should had paid more attention to his and Gene’s grand-mère when he was little, sitting in her kitchen and listening to her speeches half in English and half in Cajun French about jinxes and curses and all that voodoo juju mumbo-jumbo stuff he has mostly forgotten or never believed in.  
  
The Redheads Curse he sure can believe in, just by looking at his and cousin Roe’s romantic situation at current times.

“But unlike you lot that can come and go whenever you want as you don’ have nothing else to do, _my_ Eugene is in college and can’t do trips during the semester.” he explains, hoping Heffron gets the hint and drops the subject.

“Edward, leave Merriell alone.” intervenes Roe: “I can already hear him growl and getting that worked up is not good for his blood pressure.”  
Here it is, the cheekiness. And the nurse complex, too.  
  
At least it’s effective, since Heffron looks immediately back at his boyfriend and gets up to join him on the other side of the table, eager as a puppy wagging its tail.

‘ _Go home maybe? Before friend Guarnere proposes a round of heavy shots or friend Liebgott and friend Webster start bickering over comic books and literature, I guess._ ’ is Eugene’s suggestion.

Snafu looks around and notices for the first time in hours the state of intoxication of most of Roe’s friends.  
  
‘ _good idea. both possibilities may be game very soon_ ’ he texts, watching ‘Wild’ Bill getting up from his stool to join Toye and Malarkey’s trip to the counter and hearing Lieb and Web’s perpetual fighting background sounds getting louder and louder.

‘ _must flee. still up for a call in 15 mins?_ ’ he types quickly, standing up and snatching his leather jacket from the back of his chair.

“Leaving already, Snaf?” asks Talbert, more as a salute than a question.  
He doesn’t bother replying, just nods in his and Roe’s general direction before heading out in the mildly chill autumn air sweeping the streets of New Orleans.

He lights a cigarette and smokes a cloud up to the sky.

‘ _I’ll be waiting._ ’ is Eugene’s text illuminating the screen of his phone and he keeps looking down at it while he waits for the bus home.

 

They mostly text during daytime hours, sneaking glances at their phones during breaks at work or between classes (and sometimes, even during them).  
  
Phone calls are reserved for the late afternoons or evenings, when Eugene is back in his dorm room earlier than his roommate and Snafu is commuting home from his jobs around the city.

Recently they even implemented a new, exciting addition to their means of communication: FaceTime calls.

They mostly have to schedule those for late evenings when Sid is at baseball practices or out with his girlfriend Mary, so that they don’t get bothered by Phillips’ intrusive comments about how they should stop blatantly flirting while ogling at each other, threatening to barfs all over Eugene’s biology textbooks.

But these calls are definitely worth the wait, despite the inevitable bad lighting of both their rooms after the sun has set and the dorms’ well-known shitty connection: out of all the times during the week they spend together virtually, talking while being able to see each other’s faces is the best.

Snafu is sure he’ll never have enough of the soft yellow glow of Eugene’s bedside lamp illuminating the right side of his face as he sits on the bed and rests his back against the wall, tired eyes two dark dots reflecting the light of his phone’s screen.  
In the semi-darkness his hair look dark brown instead of fiery red and his pale skin is void of those tiny freckles Snafu could see (and obsess over) from the only photo of Eugene he has ever received.

Eugene seems to like their face-to-face calls just as much, which is admittedly one of the many things that have Snafu the most taken with this boy, probably the most taken he’s ever been with a boy since forever. Cousin Roe seems to agree, at least.

“Don’t you look tired, _cher_.” he comments as soon as the video loads and he can distinguish Eugene’s features, eyes already at half-mast and a yawn stretching his lips open.

He tries to cover his mouth with his hand and it’s then that Snafu sees his ring again: a family heirloom, Eugene had explained the first time he had asked about it.  
A gift from his father for his twentieth birthday.  
  
Every time Snafu sees it glinting on Eugene’s finger through the screen of his phone, he immediately asks himself ‘what do you think you are doing chasing such a well bred, white, smart boy?’

“I started studying for midterms yesterday. Lost track of time and suddenly it was two in the morning and Sid was already snoring so loud I had to fall asleep with my earbuds on.” he explains slowly, voice rough and sluggish as typical of someone who lost precious hours of sleep: “Only half of the first book is done, though.”

“Ya need to study less and sleep more. What’s it about with having to read all the books? I thought going to classes and review notes would be it.” says Snafu, shrugging.

“My professors are demons who love to make us students suffer. There are always questions in the exams that are taken from the books and never explained in class.” sighs Eugene, shuffling a bit so he’s resting more comfortably on his bed, falling almost sideways.  
  
Snafu can tell he’s battling with the idea of lying down on his side, unsure if it would be proper video call etiquette to talk while being completely sprawled out on the bed.  
The concern in itself is adorable.

“Should we cut this short, Sledgehamma? Ya sure seem about to pass out.” he suggests, looking at Eugene’s sudden frowning expression, almost if he is affronted by the idea.

“I’m good. I wanna hear from you before Sid and Mary gets back.” he says and this time he blinks and manages a tired but genuine smile: “How was your day, Snaf?”

Snafu shrugs once again: “Meh. Started awful since I had to hitch a ride from Heffron driving out to Philly, but it’d take less than the bus. Big mistake: the kid can’t shut the fuck up, especially early in the morning. And all his topics are as dumb as he is.” he recalls: “Then work, work, work. Got home. Though now it’s getting better by the minute.” he smirks and sends a wink looking directly into the camera lens.

Eugene smiles some more and makes an amused sound from the back of his throat.  
“Shut up.” he murmurs shyly, and then adds: “And stop talking bad about Heffron, he seems such a sweet guy… I don’t know why you’re so mean to him.”

Snafu shakes his head: “I’ve already told ya, I _am_ mean. I don’ like him just as much as I don’ like everybody.” he explains.

“You’re extra mean with him, then. I think it’s because you’re kinda jealous.” suggests Eugene, propping his head on his hand, with his elbow by then resting on the pillow.

“Jealous of what?” asks Snafu, trying his best not to sound affronted by the accusation.

Eugene shrugs: “Of him having your favourite cousin’s attention? Of them being together? I don’t know… could be.” he tries.

Snafu scoffs, looking away from his phone: “I don’ care who my cousin decides to fuck, Gene. I just wish the next one isn’ so damn stupid.” he says, resolutely.

Eugene smiles softly then, his cheek squished against his closed hand: “They seem stable, though. And nice for each other. And cute.” he reasons and Snafu can only sigh at that.

“Yeah, they do.” he admits, defeated. Damn logic and empiric proofs.

He feels like him and Eugene are surrounded by people who found the right one, couples all on various degrees of stableness.  
  
Sid and Mary were highschool sweethearts and they have that kind of easy, effortless love that inspires security also in other people;  
cousin Roe could have found Babe wandering in a Walmart parking lot at 2 am for all Snafu cares (truth be told he never asked, but they must have met in the summer while Roe was interning in South Philadelphia Hospital and had frequently weird hours shifts on the ambulance or in the emergency department), but they are sweet and admittedly good for each other, two pieces of a puzzle, each other's person;  
even those two weird fuckers Liebgott and Webster are a couple (although no one understands how and why), but Snafu guesses that deep under the constant bickering and the angry stares and the probably even worse angry intercourses everyone is certain they have all the time (they just emanate those creepy vibes...), there is something there that can make everyone who has been around them long enough go 'oh, I get it' for how strongly they also fight for each other, or for how protective they are of their (admittedly still hella weird) relationship.

It’s not that Snafu is jealous of them per se, he _had_ kind of found a Eugene of his own after all, but he most definitely envies their ability to be with each other whenever they feel like it.

Thinking about it more deeply, he realises it’s not even that: yes, Sid and Mary live in the same state and both go to college in the same city, but as Eugene explained it they still have to carefully schedule their dates and meeting due to classes and sport practices and dorm rooms lifestyle;  
Babe can come down to New Orleans more frequently than most people with a regular work or college to attend (Snafu doesn’t really know which is Heffron’s case or if he does anything at all when he is not occupying space at the Roes), but with his specialisation in internal medicine cousin Roe can’t travel much the same and still has troubles finding free time to spend with Heffron when the kid is down in Louisiana;  
the situation is even more complicated for the third couple under analysis, because Webster is a stuck up Harvard literature major living in Boston and Liebgott is a salty cab driver from San Francisco, so it’s hard to understand from the outside how such a long distance relationship (between two almost opposite people) can develop and keep on (and, most of all, why the two would choose New Orleans as the place to meet when they can afford the travel).

What Snafu is bitter about is definitely that, despite everything, they all had _seen_ each other in person at least _once_ .  
There, he said it.  
  
He is envious of them being able to meet each other, even if only once in a while.

Even now, looking at the relaxed smile on Eugene’s face on his phone’s screen, he longs to be able to touch, to lay there with him, to hear and feel him close.  
Knowing that’s not possible it’s slowly killing him inside. And making him react badly to others’ romances and happiness.

“Are you still with me? Seems like you’re spacing out a little.” chuckles Eugene, reviving him from his long trail of thoughts.

Snafu just shakes his head and smirks: “Was thinking about that Heffron and the stupid things he says.”

“Like what?” asks Eugene, followed by a long yawn he tries to mask behind his cupped hand.

“Said I should invite ya to Nawlins. That it could be fun.” he admits, his heartbeat suddenly speeding up as he watches Eugene’s soft sleepy expression change, realising what the proposition implies.

He is visibly holding his breath as Eugene smiles again, nods and says: “See? You’re being too mean to him, the guy has fantastic ideas.” and he adds, in a lower tone: “I think I should come to New Orleans, too.”

“Y-ya do?” stutters Snafu and immediately regrets sounding so hopeful.

“Yeah.” is the honest answer: “After midterms.” he quickly specifies, then he consider his schedule: “Around Thanksgiving, maybe. I’m expected back in Mobile, but maybe I can…” he trails off, waving his hand: “I’ll see what I can do.”

“There’s no rush.” agrees Snafu and really it’s not what he is thinking because just the possibility of having Eugene here with him has made him breathless and, now that he knows it could happen in just over a month, he can’t wait.

Eugene nods and repeats Heffron’s words: “Could be fun.”

He really can’t wait.

 

Some days later he gets up earlier than usual, gets into his old pick up truck and drives to Mississippi to repair the wooden balcony of an elderly lady’s house.

The lady has a dog, a black and white spotted mutt that’s young and full of energy and that runs around the garden barking at birds and squirrels. Snafu takes a few pictures of it from where he’s perched half off the balcony on the first floor and sends the best one to Eugene.

When he gets called downstairs to the patio, his client suggests he takes a break and offers him iced tea and homemade cookies, claiming it’s still too hot to be out under the sun for too long.  
In fact, Snafu knows she just wants some company.

He sits down, drinks his tea, munches on some cookies and replies politely enough to her interrogation as he plays fetch with the dog and enjoys the quietness of a sunny autumn day outside the city. He and the lady both smoke like chimneys, so he lights up their cigarettes and smokes as she keeps chattering and he keeps nodding and giving monosyllabic answers.

“Got a girlfriend? Good looking young man as you are you must do.” the woman says, flashing her old yellowed teeth as the gentle breeze of the morning ruffles the white fringe over the wrinkled, dark brown skin of her forehead.

“It’s complicated.” he replies, sucking on his cigarette and looking across the garden as the dog comes up to him and starts licking the fingers of his left hand, resting on his thigh, to get his attention.

He pats the dog on its head as she scoffs: “Young people always find ways to make everything complicated!” and then she adds: “There’s no complication in affection, sonny. You feel for her? Tell her. You want her near you? She must know. If it’s too much inside your head it gets _complicated_. But it don’t have to be.”

Snafu nods and look backs at her and she seems contented of his reaction to her wise words, because she finishes her smoke and then she claps twice and invites him to eat more cookies and drink more tea instead of asking him to get back to work.

 

He’s done right before 1 pm, but he doesn’t accept the lady’s offer to stay for lunch and gets back on his truck, driving out of her driveway as her dog barks and wags its tail at him and Snafu says goodbye looking into the rear mirror.

He eats in a diner on the road back to Louisiana and sends a picture of the burger with fries and milkshake to Eugene, who has yet to reply to the dog picture.  
Classes must be hellish today, he thinks.

He gets a text half an hour later, as he’s smoking his postprandial cigarette before getting back on the road: ‘ _Doggie!_ ’ is Eugene’s very smart first comment, and ‘ _I don’t see vegetables in your diet, Merriell Shelton. Do I have to inform the nutritionist?_ ’

‘ _shut it potatoes are veggies_ ’ he texts back: ‘ _where were you?_ ’ he adds, hoping to sound more curious than borderline concerned. Eugene is usually the first of the two of them to text in the morning, as he’s an early riser and has a lot of morning classes in his schedule.

‘ _You probably won’t believe it, but I forgot to set the alarm and overslept. I woke up at 11 am, had to run to my last morning class… just awful._ ’ explains Eugene, texting quickly as Snafu puts off his cigarette and walks to his parked car.

‘ _lol_ ’ he writes back, just to humor him.

‘ _Have you just lol’d at me? How dare you_ ’ is Eugene’s affronted answer.

‘ _ya study too much in the night n thats what you get_ ’ he texts as he sits on the driver’s seat.

He waits for Eugene’s last reply to start the engine: ‘ _You truly suck at being sympathetic._ ’.  
He laughs out loud (for real) and drives out of the diner’s parking lot.

 

The truck coughs twice and gives a bad jerk that Snafu barely manages to contain straightening the steering wheel. He sees an emergency parking exit and that’s exactly where the old truck decides to die, at less than 25 miles from the city border.

“Fuck.” he exhales, the panic having made all the blood rush in his ears as cold shivers run down his spine.

“Shit, what the fuck!” he yells, trying to start the engine back, to no avail: “C’mon ya old piece of horseshit, move!” but the truck is silent and he’s alone in a deserted rest area a bit over one hour from home.

He swears some more and hits the wheel in frustration and then, deciding being furious wouldn’t really improve the situation, he picks up his phone and calls the first name that pops into his mind that could have a car and be somehow close to where he’s parked.

“I’m working.” is cousin Roe’s annoyed answer as he picks up after the fifth ring.

“Yeah well I’m fucking stranded in Middle of Nowhere, Mississippi so who’s having the worse day, uh?” he barks back, getting out of the car to try and look around the area for clues on where he is.

His cousin is silent for a second, then he asks: “What happened?” like he wants to still sound bothered but the nurse complex is kicking in faster than usual.

“Truck died as I was getting back. I’m… I don’t know maybe half an hour from the hospital?” he considers, having only a vague idea.

“Can you pick me up? You’re the closest.” he asks and he hears Roe sigh loudly.

“Yeah, fine. My shift is not over yet, though… send me the location, I’ll try to make it in two hours.” he replies and from his tone Snafu just knows he has no chances to ask for his cousin to drop what he’s doing and rush to get him.  
  
He’s not dying and he doesn’t sound in danger, so he’s not Doc’s top priority in terms of saving lives.

“I’ll be here.” he jokes dryly, ending the call quickly to forward his position.

He then realises his phone is almost out of battery and looking for the charging cable he remembers leaving it at home.  
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” he growls, hands unsteadily reaching for his lighter and pack of cigarette.

He takes a first drag of smoke and quickly texts the discovery to Roe in case his phone dies and his cousin gets anxious for not receiving news.

‘ _truck died I have to wait for cuz to come pick me up. low battery but dont worry text you when I get back home_ ’ he sends to Eugene, hoping the reply comes fast so he can read it before turning off the phone to save battery.

‘ _Be safe. Lock yourself in. Call me as soon as you’re home._ ’ says Eugene and Snafu thinks he sounds reasonable but he knows a lot of people that manage to sound pretty reasonable even during panic situations so he doesn’t trust the calm message completely.

He turns off his phone and sighs loudly and thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have texted Sledge about this. He doesn’t need to make him worry for a situation he can’t do anything about.

They usually text about their day, but keep the bad things mostly out of their conversations: Eugene only once let it slip that he had been anxious for his dog having to undergo a surgery back home and Snafu never shared the negative experiences he sometimes had at work, like close encounters with racist pricks slamming the door he literally was called to repair in his face as soon as they saw him, deemeding him not white enough to be of service in their house as someone who had to be paid at the end of the day.

What was he thinking, preoccupying Eugene with his problems when the guy is two states away dealing with his studies and the lessons he has to catch up?  
He could have waited for the evening to recall the day’s events and tell him what happened when it’d be already over, when there would be no danger and Eugene wouldn’t have to feel anxious about it.

Sledge isn’t even _obliged_ to worry about him.  
They don’t really know each other, do they?  
Do a little over two months of texts and calls count as knowing someone enough to be invested so much in their lives to worry about their well-being in unexpected situations?

Snafu thinks about the old lady’s words and how everything always gets more complicated in his head.

He finishes smoking and steps back into the truck, locking himself in.

As he resign himself to a long wait he sighs: “Fuck yes it do.”

 

“ _Merde!_ ” is his cousin’s eloquent comment as he steps out of his car, three hours later.

He inspects Snafu’s truck like he knows stuff about motors (he doesn’t) and apologises for being one hour later than what he said he would be: “Had an emergency.”

“Yeah, whatever. Did they die?” he asks, completely uninterested as he smokes the last cigarette of his pack.  
Roe doesn’t smoke (anymore) and he already knows he wouldn’t be allowed to smoke in his car, so he’s rushing to finish before it goes to waste.

“No.” replies the doctor, bitterly: “And neither did you, so I guess things could have been worse.”

“Wait until we crash into a truck ten miles from here.” he jokes, showing his teeth in a wolfish sneer.

He keeps the cigarette between his lips and climbs back into his truck to retrieve his backpack and toolbox.

“God, shut up.” growls back his cousin and Snafu can tell he’s tired and upset by the situation because usually, out of the two of them, he’s the better one at keeping composure: “Get in the car, we’re leaving your clunker here and calling the tow truck.” he orders.

“That costs money.” he argues.

“I don’t care.” is how Roe ends the conversation.

 

They drive in complete silence for half an hour.

When they reach a road they know well enough to close the navigator app, Snafu unceremoniously disconnects his cousin’s cable from his phone and puts his own to charge, immediately turning it back up.

“ _Vas-y, s’il te plaît._ ” comments sarcastically Gene, watching him frantically checking for new messages on Telegram.

“Yeah, whatever.” he grunts, then adds: “ _Tu n’en as plus besoin._ ” and he sighs as soon as he’s sent a brief text saying he’s okay and currently being rescued by his cranky cousin.

Sledge’s reply doesn’t take much to arrive. Roe can’t contain an amused smile when he spies Snafu checking it as soon as the phone rings.

“You know our mothers complain we’re always on the phone lately?” he comments, grey eyes fixed on the road that’s getting more and more busy with rush hour commuters.

Snafu throws him an amused look and remarks: “ _Tante_ saw you textin’ Heffron under the table at dinner?”.

The doctor scoffs and shakes his head briefly, finally a sincere smile blossoming on his lips, relief on his tired features.

“Long distance ain’t easy.” says Snafu, looking out of the window at the traffic moving slowly, trying to distinguish the faces in the other vehicles.  
His phone is silent because Sledge still has to finish his afternoon classes, but his last message reports: ‘ _I know I can trust cousin Roe’s driving skills._ ’

He types: ‘ _hes a good driver and a medic. however it goes Im in good hands twice_ ’ and leaves his phone to charge, sure he’s not going to receive a reply until after he gets home.

“How’d ya met Heffron?” he asks all of sudden, surprising even himself with how randomly that came to the surface of his thoughts and managed to spill out.

His cousin looks at him briefly, wide-eyed and equally confused, before clearing his throat and replying: “I was volunteering on the ambulance, last summer.”

“Yeah, I knew that. Why’d you met, though?” he interjects, happy he at least guessed the context right.

“One evening we got called at a sport centre ‘cause someone stuck a leg under a plastic bench and tore his calf open.” says Gene, recalling the events.

“Heffron?” asks Snafu, half a smirk already stretching his lips.

“A friend of him. But when we were trying to get the kid out and treat him I accidentally cut Edward’s hand with my scissors.” sighs Gene and then immediately warns: “Don’t laugh, it was bad and unprofessional. So I offered to stitch him up. And then he asked me out.” he blushes, the tip of his nose and his ears tinted with a vivid pink on his extremely pale skin.

Snafu just smirks some more, commenting: “Heffron did?” in a bewildered tone: “Didn’t think he had it!”

“Well, he was…” a pause, in which Gene is trying to formulate the phrase at best he can: “Enthusiastically encouraged by Guarnere, but yeah…”

Snafu laughs loudly at that, trying to picture the scene in his head: his mortified cousin stitching up the sweating hand of a lovestruck Heffron as Bill urges him to ask the cute doctor on a date.

“Kinda wish I was there to see it.” he confesses.

“You should ask Guarnere for a more accurate version of this story. He loves recounting it.” sighs his cousin.

They’ve almost reached their houses’ street, but Snafu has yet one last question to ask.

“Hold on, what was Heffron doing at a sport centre?” he asks, genuinely confused.

Roe turns at a corner and then sends a reprimanding glance his way: “Merriell, Edward’s a professional soccer player.”

“No fucking way.” he exclaims: “You’re shitting me!”

“I am not. He _told_ you so himself, many times.” accuses him the doctor: “You just don’t listen to him at all.”

Snafu shrugs and peers out of the window one last time, noticing they’ve almost reached the Roes driveway.

He does listen to Heffron sometimes, he thinks.  
If he hadn’t at least once, he wouldn’t have a date with Sledge a month from there, after Thanksgiving.  
Maybe he should just try to listen to the kid more, but most topics are just too boring.

“Get out of my car.” says his cousin monotonously, when they’re finally parked.

Snafu nods and opens the door exclaiming: “ _À demain!_ ”

“ _Euh, ouais. Peut être._ ” he hears Gene reply as he marches up the road to his mother’s house.

 

The days separating October to November and especially Halloween to Thanksgiving pass so slowly Snafu is tempted to hibernate and ask his mother to wake him up when Sledge finally knocks at their door.

The weather has worsened (for New Orleans standards, at least) and he’s getting less and less outdoor works, quickly resolving to getting back to his part-time job at the lumber yard until spring comes.

This means he has more free time, coincidentally at the same time Sledge has less and less, being submerged in exams preparations. During their scheduled calls he’s so tired he seems about to fall asleep at any moment and Snafu isn’t even sure he completely understands what they talk about most of the time.

He tries, once, to say something made up and incredibly dumb to check if Sledge is truly listening or is just sleeping with his eyes half open: “Then I went to the movies with cousin Roe, Spina and Renée and saw ‘Aliens VS Wildlife’, that movie with the rabid hares bitting aliens…”

Sledge nods and asks: “Was it good?”

“Yeah, a total killer.” he chuckles and then adds: “But I think we need to catch some sleep now, Sledgehamma. Goodnight?”

And Eugene yawns a tired goodnight, looking bummed for their shorter and shorter virtual encounters.

Snafu has to use his free time someway and he gets tired very fast of catching up on Netflix series, so he passes the time taking care of all those small reparations in his mother’s old house that were long overdue but always delayed.  
  
He also gets back to carving wood, something he’s learnt to do in his high school years and stopped when he started working: creating something from scraps of wood he gets at the lumber yard keeps his mind occupied and relaxes him to the point he has almost filled his mother’s bookshelves with tiny carved animals and figurines.

Sometimes, when he finishes one that has been more complicated than others, he snaps a picture and sends it to Eugene, just to provide some distraction from his studies and keep him updated on his slowly proceeding life.

On the 4th on November, after sending his happy birthday wishes to Eugene in the morning, he adds a photo of his last effort: a small fox curled up on itself, sleeping.

‘ _I love them all, but this one in particular._ ’ replies Eugene, adding one of his rare emojis: an awed face with heart eyes.

‘ _it’s yours then come and get it_ ’ he replies, smiling at the phone screen. With his free hand he is scratching the soft head of Shuri, his mother’s fat red cat, curled on his legs not unlikely the figurine fox.

‘ _Soon, I promise._ ’ is Eugene’s reply.  
And that’s how Snafu gets a promise.

 

That same night, as he is sprawled out on the living room’s couch lazily watching the fifth episode in a row of a show Shifty suggested the last time they all met at Currahee pub, he gets an unexpected call from Eugene.

He straighten up and pauses the show, replying with a quiet and low ‘hello?’ as he tries not to wake up his mom.

“Heeey, Snaf.” greets him Eugene and two things are immediately noticeable: the background noises are worse than ever, meaning Sledge must be in some public place full with people; Eugene’s voice is rough and slurred, exactly how he sounds when he’s extremely tired or…

“I’m _sooo_ drunk.” chuckles the other, and Snafu shakes his head, thinking ‘there you go’.

“Where’d Phillips take you celebratin’?” he asks, getting up from the couch to furtively slip back into his room, closing the door behind him.  
He sits on his bed, disturbing Shuri that was napping there.

“I don’t know.” says Eugene in a laugh, merging the words in an _a’dunnaw_ sound that even Snafu, with his Cajun slang and habitual lazy talking monotone, still has troubles decoding.

“There’s a lot of people! And they _aaall_ bought me beers. Oh ‘n there’s Jay! Heya, Jay!” he hears Eugene exclaim loudly, probably moving around the club he is in with his friends: “I got tequila shots! Snaf, can you believe!? Some guy I don’t even know got me tequila shots!”

He hears someone in the background yell ‘it was Bill! You know Bill, Gene!’.  
“When you’re sober we gunna have a conversation about why ya shouldn’t accept drinks from strangers, Eugene Sledge.” he sighs.

“Mmmh. Sound like ma mama” mumbles Eugene and suddenly he’s someplace else, since the background noise has quietened down drastically.

“Where d’ya go?” asks Snafu, trying not to sound worried.

“Outside. There’s a… how’d you call… like… patio? _A’dunnaw_ …” repeats Eugene, trying to make sense of his own words: “Wanted to talk in _private_.”

“Yeah, but don’t go too far. Got it, boo?” he warns: “Stay where your friends can find ya when they come draggin’ your drunk pale ass home.”

There’s a pause like Eugene has answered by nodding his head, not realising Snafu can’t really see him do it: “A like when ye call me ‘boo’. And when ya speak French.” he drunkenly confesses: “An when ya talk ‘bout ma ass.” he drags the last word, making Snafu almost choke on his own spit in surprise.

“Yeah well I maself, am starting to like how you are when piss drunk, _cher_.” he laughs, hearing Sledge do the same on the other side of the line.

There’s a pause after that and Snafu can hear the muffled sounds coming from the other side of the speaker, the relative silence of the empty spot Sledge has found.

“I miss ya.” says suddenly Eugene, in a voice so small Snafu has to hold his phone glued to his ear to hear it.

He loses his breath for a second when he realises what Sledge has said: he hadn’t even sounded shy or embarrassed, just solemn in his confession, longing.

“Can you miss me even if we haven’t met yet?” he asks earnestly, feeling his heartbeat in his throat.

“Yeah.” replies Eugene, without hesitation: “I met ya, though. Mer, I saw you so many times… I see you everywhere I go and then… I realise you’re not there. An’ I wish ya were.” he says, like he’s not talking about their FaceTime calls, but about an imagine of Snafu he has in his head, a mirage of him that appears in the corner of his mind frequently, suddenly, everywhere.

“Fuck.” exhales Snafu, just a breath of air out of his lungs: “I wish I was there, too.”  
  
There’s a fixed projection of Eugene in his mind, too.  
Sometimes he sees him in the streets, sitting behind a coffee shop window, on the bus.  
  
He understands Eugene’s words deeply because he feels it too: by now, there’s nothing in their lives that hasn’t been affected by the other; nowhere they look where they can’t picture the other being; nothing they do that they feel they can’t share.

Snafu’s fingers are itching, a small tremor under the skin of his fingertips: his body thinks he’s about to address this thing.  
He wants to know about it, he wants to make sure Eugene knows his emotions about it.  
  
But he’s not good with words and they’d be lost to the other right now.  
They’re too far. Sledge is very drunk.

“What’d ya do if ye were here?” asks Eugene sounding amused, like he’s testing it right then, trying to picture Snafu by his side, coaxing the image out if his intoxicated mind.

“I’d buy all your drinks and tell that Bill Leyden to fuck off.” he replies immediately and hears Eugene laugh loudly at that.

“Then I’d invite you to dance. Can we dance where you are, Sledgehamma?” he asks.

“No. There’s no ball room and no… no good music.” he scoffs, almost sounding offended.

“Then I’d lead you someplace where we can dance. Maybe even there on the patio, we don’t really need music… would you dance with me?” he asks.

Sledge doesn’t reply immediately, the line is silent for a bunch of seconds.

“Eugene?” he asks, unsure.

“I’d dance with you _everywhere_ .” he replies and he suddenly sounds less slurred, fully emotional: “And I don’t even know _how to_ dance. But I’d slow dance with you under the rain in a busy street, whatever… we can do the conga on a deserted island in the middle of the Pacific.” he chuckles but he sounds desperate, voice tinted with tears.

“Sure.” breathes Snafu, feeling it too, too much.  
But he’s smiling at the wall opposite his bed and he can hear Shuri’s purrs against his leg, grounding him.

“Merriell,” Eugene calls him, just his name.  
No one calls him like that and it struck somewhere deep inside him how it sounds on Eugene’s lips, how the desire to kiss those lips every time they call him is an irresistible urge.

“Yeah?” he asks, gulping down a knot blocking his throat.

“We need to meet.” states Eugene, sounding definitely more sober.

“We do.” he acknowledges, but then he adds: “But first, you needta get back to your friends and drink some water. Then ask to be taken back to your room. And then, before you go to sleep, you needta text me to tell me you’re okay, got it?” he orders, keeping his tone as light as possible.

Eugene agrees and promises and then the call is over.

Snafu collapses on his bed, the TV in the living room still on but easily forgotten.  
He just feels like staring up at the ceiling, unmoving, lost in the jumble of his thoughts and emotions.

It’s about twenty minutes later that his phone rings with a new message.

‘ _Safe sound. Sid says am skinny but hevy to lift. Already in bed drank water very tired Goodnight_ ’ is what Eugene managed to text. His sober self would probably be ashamed of his punctuation (or lack of it), but Snafu understands well enough.

‘ _goodnight n happy hangover for tomorrow :)_ ’ he replies, smiling at his phone.

 

Some days after Eugene’s birthday night out and their heartfelt conversation, he gets a long text informing him about Eugene’s plans for Thanksgiving: he’s to drive home from Montevallo to Mobile with Sid and Mary, on Mary’s car.  
His family would probably skin him alive if he skipped actual Thanksgiving celebration with them, but he’s thinking he can take his father’s car and drive to New Orleans that weekend.

‘ _fine by me_ ’ he texts back easily, while inside he’s panicking.

One week later, as Eugene is being more silent that usual, busy with his last midterm exams, Snafu get another long text explaining how Sledge’s mom has organised an homecoming party at their local church and has apparently been very upset when Eugene mentioned the possibility of not being home on saturday and sunday.

‘ _its fine we can do after the weekend_ ’ he replies, slightly disappointed.

‘ _I need to get back to Montevallo on tuesday._ ’ texts Eugene and when Snafu huffs and tries to call him to better understand the situation, he doesn’t answer the call.

‘ _I’m in the library._ ’ explains Eugene.

‘ _call me when free_ ’ he concludes.

Eugene is free two days later, on an evening Snafu has already scheduled with his cousin and some of his friends for burgers and cinema.  
He doesn’t answer the calls (four of them) while he’s watching the movie and when he’s finally able to call back, Eugene hangs up on him for the first time since they’ve started talking.

Snafu is confused, but mostly just very irritated.

“ _Qu’y a-t-il_ ?” asks Gene Roe as soon as they’re separated from the rest of the group, falling behind as they wander around the mall, looking for something to do.  
Snafu knows he has been under the attentive scrutiny of Doc’s eyes all evening.

“I can’t talk to him. He’s always busy studying… we had plans for after Thanksgiving, but looks like they’ve dropped and I… I can’t fix it if we don’t talk.” he mumbles confusingly, hoping Roe can still understand him thanks to the fact they’ve known each other all their lives.

“You remember before my birthday, when I told you I had a fight with Edward?” asks his cousin and Snafu nods, remembering vaguely the conversation they had while in his backyard, hunting for Roxanne the alligator to snap pictures of her so he could send them to Sledge.

“It was about the same matter. He had a game he needed to train for and I had just started the internship at the hospital. He called to tell me he couldn’t make it for my birthday and I took it… badly.” he explains, as alway weighting and carefully calculating his words.

“But it’s just another consequence of distance. As much as we’d love to be able to see each other all the time, we can’t cancel our everyday plans. We do all we can to carve out a bit of time to be together, but there can be occasions when that’s simply not possible. It’s stressing and stress leads to misunderstandings and fights.” he goes on and Snafu shrugs but he is listening carefully.

They have stopped walking and are resting against the railing of the mall’s second floor, looking down at the escalators and shops and at the fountain right in the middle of the central square.

“I guess what matters is realising the relationship is way more important than whatever the argument is about.” concludes Roe, looking directly at him: “Try to overcome the disagreement and find a point of contact from where it’s easy to start anew.”

“I really want to see him, though. And I thought we were on the same page about this.” argues Snafu, not sure if he wants to let go of that matter entirely.

Gene considers it and nods: “I’m sure you are. Maybe that’s why he is disappointed too: he wanted to be able to come see you, but he figured out he can’t and that’s why he’s ignoring you.”

There’s a pause, during which they observe their friends having fun at the arcade in front of them, punching for points or shooting at digital monsters.

“How did you convince Heffron to make up and come to the party?” asks Snafu.

“I said I was sorry for overreacting. He said he was sorry for not listening to me. He asked his coach for a permission to leave practice early and I changed the party hour.” replies his cousin, smiling fondly to himself as if recalling the conversation he had with his boyfriend: “Found a point of contact.” he repeats after a beat.

Snafu stays silent, putting his hands in his pockets and feeling the back of his phone against his knuckles.

“Hey, Doc! Snafu! Do you guys wanna get cotton candy?” calls suddenly Skip, already halfway to the candy truck with Malarkey and Penkala.

The cousins share an amused look before joining them.

 

‘ _im sorry i made you mad. let me know when we can talk_ ’ he types and his thumb hovers on the send button for a few seconds before pressing down. He feels the message is not complete until he adds: ‘ _i miss you_ ’.

He leans back against the wall: he’s sitting on the wooden floor of his room, Shuri padding around his stuff seemingly without a care, before she gets bored of wandering and joins him, plopping down on his lap.

Not even one minute passes until Eugene is calling him.  
And it’s a FaceTime call.

Snafu hesitates just one second, not sure if he wants to see the other’s face at the moment, but most importantly not sure if he wants to be seen.

He still accepts the call and waits for the video to load.

“Before we say anything else: I’m sorry too.” begins Eugene.  
He’s outside, probably sitting on a park bench judging by the autumnal foliage on the background. He has got his white earbuds on and under the pale afternoon sun his hair look lighter, a deep auburn shade.

“I’ve been so stressed out by midterms and my mom’s requests for the holidays that I’ve been avoiding a confrontation with you. It’s been a stupid behaviour and I really don’t blame you for having been upset.” he reasons, maturely and calmly.

“I care about you, Merriell. I care about what we have going on, no matter how wrong or complicated it might look from the outside.” he goes on.

“It don’t have to be complicated.” says Snafu under his breath, remembering a conversation he had some days before with a wise stranger.

“No, it doesn’t. And I want to make it as simple as possible.” asserts Eugene, taking a breath before saying: “I don’t think I’ll be able to come to New Orleans on Thanksgiving. And it’s tearing me apart… making me so mad for deceiving you with a promise I didn’t know I couldn’t keep.” he admits.

There’s a pause, in which Snafu swears, despite the not so perfect quality of the call, he can see something shine in Eugene’s dark eyes.

“I know I can’t swear on it now, but if you’re willing to wait for me, I’ll do anything I can to be able to visit you before Christmas.” he concludes.

Snafu nods two times, the second with more conviction.

“I’d wait for you all ma life.” he hears himself say and it sounds so cheesy he’s suddenly blushing. Eugene laughs and they’re suddenly relieving the tension.

“I hope it won’t take me that long to get to New Orleans. But considering how slow my brother always says I drive…” jokes Sledge, lightly.

“Fine, just take the bus.” retorts Snafu with an exaggerated sigh.

Eugene laughs again and he’s back to smiling fondly at him, through the tiny screen of Snafu’s phone.

They’ll have to keep it like this for a little bit longer.  
But it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.

 

On the evening of Thanksgiving day, all his cousin’s friends are gathered back at Currahee and Snafu gets invited.

He goes with the excuse of needing a beer to wash down his mother’s turkey, but the truth is he doesn’t want to be alone at home thinking about how he’s not going to meet Eugene the next day.

The place is packed as always, but their group of friends know the owners well and that’s how they get to occupy the best tables for the whole evening.

“No one believes you!” is yelling Perconte from across the table, slamming his glass down to get Luz’s attention and shut him up: “You keep making these things up, George!”

“Oh c’mon, Frank! What’s so unbelievable about it? Do I have to show you my contact list?” exclaims Luz, picking his phone up to show it.

“There’s no way you’ve got a real Hollywood actress’ number and you’re texting her!” reiterates Perconte.

‘ _I’m so full of food I might become the next turkey._ ’ texts Eugene right in the middle of that chaos.  
Snafu smiles at his phone, momentarily distracted from the ongoing diatribe.

“It’s not like he said he’s having sex with her, Frank… they’re just texting.” tries to intervene Christenson, acting as a peacemaker between the two.

“One thing doesn’t exclude the other, Pat.” argues Hoobler, looking extremely interested in the conversation at hand.

‘ _im tryin to cure the stomach ache with beer_ ’ replies Snafu, but trying not to miss parts of the conversation around him.

“Yeah, there’s sexting. And then there’s phone sex.” points out Penkala.

“Do people really do that?” asks Skip, sceptically.

“We do that.” shrugs nonchalantly Liebgott and everybody immediately look at him and Webster, who hides his face in his hands and growls: “Jesus Christ, Joe…”

“What? It’s true.” he argues: “I bet a lot of long distance relationship couples do that… take Babe and Doc for example.” he adds, gesturing at the two in question.

“We really don’t.” replies Roe, while Heffron just blushes all over and shakes his head.

“I don’t believe it.” declares Liebgott, smirking.

“Leave them alone…” comes the muffled, exasperated plea of Webster, still from behind the shield of his hands.

“What about you, Snafu? Do you sext?” asks suddenly Luz and Snafu looks up from his phone to look directly at him, bewildered.

“Wha-?” he starts, but Luz intervenes immediately: “With your Sweet Home Alabama boy, I mean.” sporting a big shit-eating grin as everyone else looks extremely interested in Snafu’s answer and reaction.

Realisation hits him after a couple of seconds and he sends a look of pure betrayal to his cousin, one that’s asking ‘you told LUZ!?’ and screaming ‘How could you! I trusted you, we’re the same blood!’  
Gene, to be fair, looks horrified and terribly apologetic.

That’s the moment Sledge decided to make his phone ring with a reply and everyone goes wild around the table as Snafu tries to hide his phone in his pocket.

“We don’t really need an answer to that.” snickers Guarnere, making everyone else erupt in loud laughters and Snafu spend the next minutes trying to calm himself down not to jump at their throats.

His cousin mouths a silent ‘I’m sorry’ from across the table as the conversation gets back to George Luz’s latest conquest and he finally gets to read Sledge’s text.

‘ _Is it working?_ ’ he’s asking.

‘ _no_ ’ he quickly types back: ‘ _mostly cause im with cousin roes bunch of idiots_ ’ and adds: ‘ _theyre getting me headache in addition_ ’ and hits send.

‘ _The whole company is there? Why?_ ’ asks Eugene right after, meaning he’s momentarily out of his mother’s grip and hiding in his room to avoid having to make conversation with the relatives.

‘ _celebrating joe toye_ ’ he replies.

‘ _It’s his birthday?_ ’ inquires again Sledge.

‘ _no its just tradition on thanksgiving. i dont know dont ask_ ’ he texts back as Liebgott gets closer to whisper: “Let me know if you need help with that.”

“Fuck off.” he barks back without missing a beat.

Joe just smiles amusedly and shrugs, producing a cigarette from his pack to place it behind his ear: “Jesus, okay. Breath a little, buddy.” he says, feigning innocence.

 

Thanks to that whole conversation, for the next couple of days Snafu keeps being haunted by the niggle that he has to soon address the x-rated aspects of his relationship with Sledge.

Now that Eugene is back in Mobile and all he has to do is attend his mother’s socially respectable parties, they get a whole lot of time to hole up in their rooms for long calls.  
They sure talk about quite everything, Snafu thinks, but nothing much in that department.

Does he have to ask what Eugene feels about it?  
Will he need, sooner or later, to ask permission to get a little dirtier with their shared pictures and teasing comments?

He’s utterly at loss.  
So much he partially regrets refusing Liebgott’s experienced advices on the matter (but only partially and only when he gets too desperate thinking about this topic in his own head).

‘ _should I ask Sledge for phone sex?_ ’ he sends Roe on Saturday evening, too caught up in his thoughts to realise he’s asking his nearly-doctor cousin for sex advices.

‘ _We should start drawing a line between what we should and shoudn't share of our private lives between each other. I go first: I don’t wanna know about this. Ever._ ’ replies Roe.

‘ _i thought we were flesh and blood :(_ ‘ he texts out, bummed by the refusal.

‘ _Stop using this excuse._ ’ he gets denied once again. But then, after a few minutes, he gets another text: ‘ _Talk to him about what you need. Point of contact, t’rappelles?_ ’ and Snafu smiles at his phone, partially glad his cousin isn’t quite the bitch he tries to act like he is.

He resolves to wait for until Eugene is back at college: talking about sex in close proximity of his parents sure would be more awkward than usual and it would probably play to Snafu’s disadvantage.  
He can’t afford that.

 

On monday morning, at around 8 am, he gets woken up by his phone ringing with a text notification.

He rolls over, grumbling and trying to open his eyes enough to read what’s written on the screen.

It’s Eugene. He’s sent: ‘ _I probably just did something very stupid._ ’

Snafu yawns and sits up on the bed, blinking quickly to dissolve the sleepiness to text back: ‘ _is it wakin up before 8am on your last day of holiday_ ’

Shuri jumps on the bed and purrs at him as he waits for Eugene’s reply.

‘ _It involves that,_ ’ writes the college student, quickly adding: ‘ _But it’s more about me buying a ticket and currently being on a bus to New Orleans._ ’

Snafu’s brain takes a few seconds to process the information, but when it does he has to suppress an embarrassing squeak of surprise and amazement: “What the fuck!?” he mutters, trying not to be too loud, but Shuri meows back at him as if wanting to be part of the conversation.

‘ _I’ll be at the station in two hours._ ’ states Eugene and even through written messages Snafu can feel the excitement: ‘ _Come pick me up maybe?_ ’ is the last request.

Snafu wants to scream.  
He wants to get up and jump on his bed like he did when he was little. He wants to run around the house chanting Sledge’s name while getting ready to head out and go pick him up.  
Go meet his boy for the first time.

‘ _fuck gene youll drive me crazy someday_ ’ he types, his fingers almost trembling.

‘ _You said you’d wait, but I can’t be as patient. I need to see you._ ’ writes Eugene: ‘ _I have 24 hours and then need to catch a bus to Montevallo._ ’

‘ _Ill make em the best 24h of your life_ ’ he writes and if there’s a hint of teasing in his message, it’s entirely intended.

He then bolts up, unable to spend any more minutes in bed waiting for the right time to get ready and go get his car and…

“Oh, fuck… the car.” he remembers suddenly: his truck is still under repair.

He’s gonna need to borrow someone else’s car.

Or, better yet…

He sends a couple of texts before looking for a clean change of clothes and jumping into the shower. When he gets back, he’s got his cranky but still affirmative answer.

‘ _Ill be at the bus station_ ’ he writes Eugene, padding down the hall to go get coffee in the kitchen: ‘ _hope youre ready to also meet cousin roe_ ’ he adds, smirking.

As always, he waits for Eugene’s reply.

 

\---

**Notes:**

Yeah, they didn't really meet in this chapter either! Sorry! :P

I got some suggestions for things I have included in this second part, which are: more BoB character and pairings (and once I started adding people I really couldn't stop myself...), Sledge going back home as the right time for them to decide to meet (well, kinda...), adding a bit more spice (there's just a hint, but I don't want to rush their relationship and Snafu thinks so too, although being utterly confused by how he feels... maybe later? Who knows?), etc. (surely there's something more I'm forgetting)

Something else is just my own hcs popping out all of sudden: I love the idea of Snafu being good at carving wood and of him having a good relationship with animals (even if he mostly prefers cats). Speaking of which, I couldn't decide on a name for the cat but recently I've re-read some chapters of 'With The Old Breed' and I thought Shuri (like the Shuri Line on Okinawa) would be a good name to link this AU with a memory of a more canon-like version.

If you'd like to chat about this fic and to look at bad edits and drawings I did and I'll do for it, go to @brightly-painted-canvas on Tumblr and look at the 'unknown number' hashtag or leave a message in my ask box! :D

And lastly, a look to the little of French I added to Snafu and Roe's dialogues:  
_Vas-y, s’il te plaît_ = please, go on  
_Tu n’en as plus besoin_ = You don't need it anymore  
_Euh, ouais. Peut être_ = Sure, could be  
_Qu’y a-t-il_? = what's wrong?  
_t'rappelles?_ = do you remember?

(my French is literally middle school level and most importantly it's not Cajun French... sorry for any mistake!)

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eugene's 24 hours in New Orleans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not beta-ed, English is not my first language**
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you once again to all of you for liking and commenting the previous chapters!  
> I'm sorry it took so much time to write this third part, but it's been (honestly) complicated to plot and still very long to write (on my doc it's more than 17 pages!). As usual, I hope it's worth the wait!
> 
> Enjoy!

The bus station in New Orleans is as busy as Eugene imagines the whole city being.  
It’s a stark contrast with the one in Mobile, a mere signpost on a main street, where he had stood with only two other people at an ungodly hour of the morning.

Half the bus has reached their destination and Eugene has to slalom between people, children and heavy baggages before reaching the entrance of the station’s waiting room.

The space is filled with voices and sounds, there isn’t one single empty chair and the only two stalls selling food and newspapers have queues forming from the counters: but Eugene doesn’t linger on any of this.

He’s scanning the area with both excitement and apprehension, feeling restless and antsy like never before in his life, despite not having been able to sleep through the long ride on the bus. His heartbeat hadn’t stopped hammering loudly in his chest and ears ever since he had decided to change his plans and go see Snafu: thank God his father and his stethoscope aren’t around at the moment or he would have risked to be rushed to the emergency room for his ‘still acting up’ heart.

It’s a few seconds before he finally spots who he’s looking for.

Snafu is standing in the middle of the sidewalk outside the waiting room, holding his phone in his hand and looking around frantically, probably exactly like Eugene had been doing until right before noticing him.

He feels his pocket vibrate with an incoming text, but right now, he decides, will be the first time in months he would not rush to check it, having the suspected source of the message right in front of his eyes.  
Being finally able to see him and talk to him without a screen (and about 340 miles) separating them.

He reaches the doors, pushes on them and steps outside, keeping one open with the hand not holding his bag to help a young couple with a stroller getting inside.

When he looks back up, Snafu has noticed him.

His big eyes are even more impressive in person: they’re framed by handsome sharp features and a tight, guarded posture Eugene hadn’t really expected, considering his usual lax demeanor.  
And as he gets closer he notices all the other details of Snafu’s appearance which he had found attractive before and he’s now able to admire from more than one flat angle.

Eugene doesn’t even know what possesses him to run the last three steps and almost literally launch himself in Snafu’s arms, dropping his bag on the pavement as Snafu backsteps a little, surprised in having been engulfed in an unexpected hug, suddenly having to support both their weights.

The first thing Eugene notice in Snafu’s embrace is how warm and comforting it feels, despite Snafu being skinnier and even a few inches shorter than him. He also smells amazing, which is a creepy thought Eugene wishes he hadn’t had, but it’s entirely true and he’s not even sure he’s sorry for thinking it. The checkered black and red coat Snafu is wearing is soft under the touch and Eugene briefly grasps at the material with his hands on Snafu’s back.

After the first moments of surprise, Snafu steadies himself and hugs him back, laughing briefly before whispering next to his ear: “Gotcha, Sledgehamma.” like a secret between them.

Eugene feels like melting, but he regains control of himself and parts from the hug to look at Snafu’s genuinely smiling face, grinning back like a complete idiot.

“I expected a romantic kiss, to be honest.” comments a voice in a distinct Philadelphia accent right next to them: amidst the chaos of the station there are two other people around their age staring directly at the scene they are making, smiling knowingly and looking almost proud: “You know, like in The Notebook.” adds the same voice, apparently belonging to the skinny and pale redhead on the left.

“I’m glad they didn’t do that. I hate that movie and we’re in the middle of a crowd.” says the other, who Eugene hasn’t any difficulty recognising as cousin Roe.

“Get lost, both of you.” barks Snafu, still loosely holding Eugene in his arms.

“You must be Heffron?” asks Eugene instead, stepping aside to shake the other’s hand.

“Please, Babe is fine. Don’t let these two influence you, we all go by nicknames.” he pleads, gesturing at both cousins with a nod of his head.

Sledge smiles amusedly and turns toward Roe, shaking his hand: “Nice to meet you, Eugene.”

“Pleasure is mine, Eugene.” replies the Doc, grinning.

“Well that’s… creepier than I thought.” comments Heffron, crossing his arms and squinting like he’s trying to accurately analyse the situation.

“Not as much as seeing the two of you next to each other.” sighs cousin Roe: “How did we manage that, Merriell?” he asks.

“No idea. They look like twins? Never start talking at the same time.” snickers Snafu, bumping his shoulder with Eugene’s.

“It’s the Curse, I tell you. Grandmère warned us.” says dramatically Roe.

“And we didn’t listen.” nodded Snafu, solemnly accepting his damned fate.

“Curse?” asks Eugene looking slightly lost, glancing at Heffron for moral support.

“Oh, you know… their grandmother was one of those… voodoo witches or something.” explains vaguely the boy from Philly.

“ _Traiteuse._ ” corrects him Doc Roe, sternly.

“Ya. What I said, but in French.” grins Babe and Eugene can’t help but snicker, all the while lacing his fingers with Snafu’s by his side, feeling unexpectedly bold amidst the otherwise distracted crowd.

Snafu ducks his head, looking almost shy.

“I remember being promised a cup of coffee.” voices Roe, looking at his cousin and making a grand show of not noticing his and Sledge’s smug faces: “As a payment for driving you here.”

“A deal’s a deal.” sighs Snafu, nodding and bending over to pick up Eugene’s bag and guiding him toward his cousin’s car, followed by the other couple.

“We should go to the Currahee, see who’s around.” suggests Babe.

“Beer at this hour of the morning, Heffron? What happened to you?” asks Snafu, opening the trunk to store Eugene’s bag.

“Nah, during the day it’s run by the other tenants, the quiet ones. Looks more like a cafè than anything else.” explains the redhead, stealing Snafu’s front seat to be closer to Roe and leaving the back seats to the new lovebirds.

“ _Que fait-il encore ici?_ ” grumbles Snafu, looking at his cousin like he’s just being a victim of high betrayal.

“ _Il a le temp avant de retourner à Philly. De plus, il voulait rencontrer ton petit ami._ ” replies cousin Roe, starting the car.

“Gentlemen, please. No gobbledygook in here.” calls Heffron, probably unaware of the fact that they were talking about him in the first place.

“This is my car, Edward.” points out Roe, turning the steering wheel to exit the parking lot.

“Yeah, boo: this is Gene’s car. Get the hell lost, would ya?” growls Snafu, leaning forward on his seat to look intimidatingly at Babe, who however doesn’t seem fazed in the least by his threatening behaviour.

He just shrugs and is about to reply when Roe intervenes, admonishing them: “Behave, the both of you. Or Sledge and I are leaving to have a wonderful day in the city by ourselves.” he suggests, sending the tiniest wink to Eugene through the rear mirror.

Then Heffron says something else and Roe gets distracted by his boyfriend, leaving Eugene and Snafu to deal with the tension rising in the back of the car.

Snafu only steals a quick glance in his direction before extending his hand on the seat, silently asking Eugene to hold it again while looking distractedly outside the window, faking annoyance.

Eugene waits a few seconds before complying, once again feeling like melting only from Snafu’s touch, all warm inside and with the constant high beat of his heart in his chest.

“Your cousin is nice.” he comments softly, careful not to be heard by the other two occupants of the car, still assorted in their own private conversation.

“Yeah but I’m better looking.” mumbles Snafu, flashing one of his grins.

Eugene rolls his eyes in amusement, then picks his phone out of his pocket to text his father that he’s arrived safely.

Apart from Snafu’s unread message of earlier (a simple ‘ _i’m here where are u_ ’), he has a text from Sid: ‘ _Are you still alive?_ ’

‘ _Why wouldn’t I be?_ ’ he asks back, perplexed.

‘ _Suppose this Snafu lives up to his name and does some weird shit like kidnapping you and selling your organs on the internet_ ’ suggests Sidney.

‘ _Lay off those awful horror movies, old geeser.’_ he text back, then adds: _‘I’m fine. He’s real and looks like his picture. A little better now he’s up close, actually._ ’

‘ _I can feel you drool from here. Disgusting._ ’ comments his best friend: ‘ _Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. I’m not giving you a hard task, the list of things I wouldn’t do isn’t much long…_ ’ he adds.

‘ _Blocked and reported. Turning off the phone. Bye._ ’ he texts as a farewell.

‘ _luv u 2 genie_ ’ writes Sidney, like he usually does just to piss him off.

 

The Currahee looks indeed like any other coffee shop under the light of day: there is a small line at the counter and the few customers sitting at the tables are a crowd of young students or freelancers all bent over books or laptops or chatting busily with each others.

“I didn’t even know they _had_ a coffee machine…” admits softly Snafu while entering the café, holding the tall front door open for Eugene.

The space is illuminated by the sun filtering from the large shop windows and by green table lights on each dark wooden table.

At the counter, a man lifts his head from an order he is preparing to great the newcomers: “Yeah, boys!” he exclaims, the corner of his warm eyes crinkling from the smile he’s sporting.

“Hey, Lip!” cheers Heffron, while cousin Roe nods and says: “Hello, Carwood.”

“This is Snafu’s Eugene.” adds Heffron, pointing at Sledge and making the pub owner recoil in surprise. Then he smiles calmly and warmly once again, extending one hand above the counter to shake Eugene’s.

“Nice to meet you.” he says, then nods toward the back of the shop: “Go on and take your seats. I’ll have Ron do a round for orders.” he suggests.

Doc leads them to a corner of the room, where what looks like the reserved spot for frequent customers is placed above a wooden platform vaguely looking like a stage. There are five or six tables above it and only one is occupied by a lone student, surrounded by papers, books and one half finished cup of black coffee.

Heffron’s eyes gleam with mischievousness as he jumps toward the boy exclaiming: “Web!” and unceremoniously sits right beside him to slap him on the back of his head.

“Ow! What the…” protests the hapless student, lifting his head from the book to glare at Babe.

“Good morning, David.” interjects Roe before Webster starts complaining.

“Hi, Doc. What are you doing here, guys?” he asks, sparing one last glance at his studies before closing his book with a tiny huff.

“Taking Sledge on a grand tour of New Orleans.” explains Heffron, gesturing toward Eugene and Snafu, just then sitting down at their table, opposite them.

Webster looks directly at Eugene then, blinking twice his ocean blue eyes before breaking a welcoming smile: “Didn’t know we were finally meeting you.”

“Didn’t know I was coming until about 5 hours ago. Hi.” replies Eugene: “What are you studying?” he asks politely.

Webster shrugs: “Just getting a head start on next semester.”

“Sledgehamma meeting one of his species in a wild, hostile habitat.” comments Snafu, making both Heffron and Roe snort.

“You’re a Lit major, right?” asks Eugene, ignoring the other three. Webster nods. “Harvard. I could never…” Eugene adds, impressed.

At this Webster smiles sheepishly, immediately replying: “It’s not that difficult once you’re in. And I’ve gathered you’re studying a fascinating subject, aren’t you?”

“Biology.” replies Eugene and a new light sparks in Webster’s eyes as he continues: “I’m mostly interested in zoology, ornithology and helminthology.”

“It must sound idiotic to you, but I’m thinking about dropping litterature and change to biology myself.” admits Webster, excitedly. He’s clearly happy to finally being able to talk to someone who speaks his own language.

By Eugene’s side Snafu is rolling his eyes in annoyance, but Eugene nudges him with his elbows and nods at Webster to continue: “Literature was actually a fallback, my parents wanted me to study law. But I’ve always wanted to be a marine biologist.”

“It’s a big change.” comments Eugene, still sounding encouraging.

Babe and Doc exchange another amused look over the menus their are faking big interest in.

“I know, but I’m determined. I’ve read and seen everything that exists about sharks…” says Webster, dreamily.

“... sharks?” asks Eugene, suddenly confused.

“Yeah, he’s a shark nerd.” comes a voice from behind him, making Eugene turn to see who the newcomer is.

It’s a skinny guy with dark hair and eyes, sporting half a smirk and a cigarette behind his ear: “He’d fuck a shark if he could.” he adds.

“Hey, Lieb.” waves unperturbed Heffron, while Webster fumes and splutters in indignation.

“Hey, losers.” greets Liebgott, circling around the table to sit on the other side of Webster, ruffling the boy’s wavy brown hair in the process: “You’re also a big fat liar, Webster. Said you were all alone and needed rescue from boredom.”

“They’ve just arrived.” grumbles the other, defensively.

Liebgott looks around the table and stops his stare on Eugene: “Where have you been hiding your identical twin all this time, Babe?” he asks.

“In my ma’s basement.” replies Heffron without missing a beat.

“This is Eugene Sledge, Merriell’s… friend.” says the Doc, sensibly.

Liebgott nods, the ever present smirk on his red lips stretching wider in realisation: “Ah, the infamous sexter.”

“Oh, please…” sighs dramatically Webster as Eugene turns bright red and Snafu barks a: “Fuck off!” so loud half the café turns to look at the six of them.

The argument is nipped in the bud by the arrival of what Eugene might think is a (admittedly slightly creepy) waiter, but everyone around the table just calls him ‘Sparky’ or ‘Speirs’.

They place their orders under Speirs’ scrutiny, feeling suddenly on edge and sighing in unison when the man leaves their table to reach Lip at the counter.

They keep chatting while drinking their coffees, the two Eugenes trying to keep the conversation on a friendly tone despite Snafu’s swinging mood and Liebgott’s continuous provocations.

Sledge is glad they stopped at the Currahee: he can definitely see why this is the place the whole band decided to elect as their hangout.  
The atmosphere is light and lively, the owners seems to know how to manage an activity open all day with a clear distinction between light and dark hours and, most of all, he can feel the whole place being filled with good memories related to the group of friends, from photos on the walls to the peculiar disposition of tables on the wooden platform in the back.

He is curious about the night hours: he’d like to meet the others, but he probably won’t have time to stop for a visit tonight. And Snafu, by his side, looks strangely fidgety, like he’s more than ready to leave and finally be able to spend some alone time with him.  
He understands (and in part shares) the feeling.

So when the coffees are finished and Webster is discussing flight hours with Liebgott, Eugene leans toward Snafu to whisper: “I think I’m ready for the grand tour. What about you?”

Snafu looks suddenly less bored and on edge, smiling smugly as he replies in his softest, lowest voice: “Let’s make a run for it, Sledgehamma.” and stands up, catching the whole table’s attention.

“We’re leaving.” he declares unceremoniously, grabbing his jacket and paper coffee cup.

“Have a good day.” smiles warmly the Doc, ignoring his cousin awful manners: “Suppose you’ll need me to drive you back to the station? What hour?” he asks Eugene.

“The bus is at 4 am. Don’t worry about it, I can take a taxi…” replies Sledge, not wanting to impose on Roe’s kindness.

The Doc just shakes his head: “No worries, I have an early shift at the hospital. I can take you.” he explains.

“You’re such a saint… are you sure the two of you are related?” jokes Eugene, looking back at Snafu who’s waiting for him at the door, eager to get away: “Thank you.” he adds.

“I just can’t find the right words to tell him he’s been adopted.” replies cousin Roe, with the sneakiest grin: “You’re welcome. Have fun.” he concludes.

 

Eugene follows Snafu out of the pub.

They take a bus to the city centre and walk from there, with Eugene marvelling at the beauty of the historical buildings and the chaotic traffic of the big city and Snafu explaining what little he knows about his hometown, mostly just recalling memories from each place and corner he had frequented with cousins and friends since he was little.

They stop for lunch at a typical cajun and creole place (at Eugene’s insistence) and get beignets at Café du Monde (at Snafu’s insistence).  
Come afternoon Eugene is blissfully full of amazing food and the good atmosphere of the city, despite the cold and unfortunately cloudy weather.

They’re taking a walk along the riverside when Snafu finishes smoking a cigarette and sneaks a glance around the mostly empty street before holding Eugene’s hand for the third time since they met, intertwining their fingers.

He once again assumes his typical halo of indifference, but this close Eugene can see the pink dusting his cheeks and the stunned and delighted expression in his pale eyes. He smiles to himself, ducking his head and looking at the Mississippi running by their side.

“You know,” Eugene breaks silence after a while: “I like Webster.” he admits.

“No you don’t.” sputters Snafu, shocked by Eugene’s sudden outcome.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he laughs.

“Sledgehamma, no one likes Webster.” explains Snafu, shaking his head and sounding like someone explaining a very simple notion to a child: “Not even his parents like Webster. You can’t like Webster.”

“He’s very intelligent and competent?” tries to reason Eugene, frowning in confusion: “Not to mention good looking.”

“Whoa, hold the fuck on. I _forbid_ you to like Webster that way.” snaps Snafu, suddenly stopping and holding Eugene back by the hand.

“Besides,” continues Eugene, unaffected by the other’s exaggerated reaction: “Liebgott seems to kinda like him? _That_ way?” he smiles back at him, to make it clear he’s been teasing him all along.

Snafu sends him a dirty look: “Debatable. No one’s sure about that still.” he says, resuming his slow steps on the pedestrian walk.

Eugene hums non-committally, looking back ahead before adding: “So you don’t mind if we exchanged numbers to help with his change of faculty, right?”

Snafu sighs loudly: “Just... stop talking about Webster.” he begs.

Eugene snorts, stopping again to thoroughly scan the empty and quiet corner they’ve found themselves in: “Fine, I’ll stop talking.” he concedes.

Snafu is looking at him with an air of curiosity, finally placid and laid back after half a day looking nervous.  
Eugene appreciates, truly: he may be better at concealing his feeling (years of practice with having to deal with his caring but very intrusive mother), but he can’t deny how he’s been feeling almost exactly the same way. Unsure of where they stand now that they’re this close, touching, looking longingly into each other’s eyes.

 _Time to be brave_ , he thinks. _For the both of us_.

“What if instead of talking I do something I’ve been thinking about ever since I saw you at the bus station?” he smiles, his grip on Snafu’s hand getting firmer as he drags the other boy closer still.

“And what’s that?” asks provocatively the Cajun, having well guessed what Eugene is hinting at.

Eugene does without replying then, closing the distance to kiss Snafu’s lips.

 _Finally_.

They both seem to release tension from their shoulders, sagging against one another as the kiss deepens and Snafu’s hands circle Eugene’s waist, Eugene’s fingers gently tilting the other’s face at a better angle, caressing his sharp jaw and finding deliciously soft curls to graze on his nape.

“Worth the wait.” comments Eugene, eyes still closed and damp lips caressing Snafu’s ones. He’s smiling and Snafu lets out a sigh of relief and wonder, holding him firmly closer, their hearts beating furiously in their chests.

“Glad ta hear…” whisper Snafu, in awe.

“Might even try again,” suggests Eugene, blinking to see him still staring at his lips, waiting: “Quick, before they see us.” he adds playfully, nudging him closer with the hand at the back of his head, to kiss him again.

 

Snafu hasn’t yet fully opened his house’s front door and Shuri is already loudly meowing on the other side. She glares at the both of them as soon as they appear on the doorstep.

“Yeah I know you need feedin’, ya fat bitch.” sighs Snafu, stepping inside to reach the kitchen, Shuri tailing rapidly behind him.

In the hallway there’s Eugene’s bag, a sign that cousin Roe and Babe have been there to deliver it while they were out. Eugene steps inside and closes the door behind him, looking around and slowly following Snafu while studying the interior of his mother’s house.

It’s cozy and well decorated, a sign that this has been their family home for a long while: there are a few picture frames on a cabinet in the hallway: half of them are of the cat, the other half of Snafu, his numerous cousins and his always smiling young mother, petite and beautiful with the same distinctive grey eyes as him.

He reaches the kitchen, where Shuri is greedily eating from a bowl on the floor and Snafu is looking at her fondly, shaking his head: “Now she’ll leave us alone.”

“I don’t mind her, really.” he says, contemplating the cat’s read fluffy head bobbing up and down as she munches her food: “Even if I’m more of a dog person.”

“Don’t I know…” says Snafu and Eugene is sure he’s thinking about all the pictures of Deacon he has sent him over the course of their friendship (relationship?), which have exponentially increased since he’s been home for the holidays.

“Where’s your mom?” he asks.

“Probably already on her way to the last shift.” shrugs Snafu.

Eugene knows his mother is a nurse. Just like her sister, Roe’s mother. And considering Roe’s studies…

“It must run in the family,” he smiles: “The passion for anything medical.”

“Comes from grandmère of course. Except for me... I don’t like bloody stuff much,” admits Snafu, looking back down at Shuri finishing her food and contentedly licking her whiskers: “It’s a… a thing from when I was a kid. About my father.” he ends in a whisper.

Eugene nods, knowing he shouldn’t press the conversation further: Snafu has never really told him anything about that side of the family. Given time, maybe… but not now.  
He can deduce enough about Snafu’s father judging by his complete absence in the house’s memorabilia.

He instead keeps looking around the living room, this time noticing the many wooden animals and figurines adorning almost every shelf: “You did so many!” he exclaims, admired.

He picks up one: a small alligator with its tail curled and its mouth closed in a sly looking smile.

“Hello, Roxanne.” he greets, as Snafu approaches and snickers at the sight of him finally meeting (the miniature graven image) of the reasons why they were brought together in the first place.

“She might be outside, ya know? Wanna go check?” he suggests.

Eugene shakes his head, placing little Roxanne back in its spot: “Maybe later? I’d like a tour of the house first,” he knows he’s blushing as he adds: “I… don’t mind it ending in your room, either.” glancing nervously at Snafu to study his reaction.

There’s a quick intake of breath and then Snafu is nodding understandingly, gesturing for Eugene to follow him out of the living room and up the stairs to the second floor.

They are climbing up when suddenly Eugene is struck with the realisation they maybe have to talk about this before they rush into anything.  
And with anything he means sex.

He’s been thinking about this moment for a while now (a long while, admittedly) and apart from fantasizing about any different scenario in which it could happen (of course he did), he never really thought about externalising any of his inner thoughts to Snafu.  
Not because afraid of what Snafu’s own inner thoughts would be, but because he had been stuck behaving like some kind of a well mannered, gentlemanly (and borderline prudish) Southern Christian boy for so long that in the past he had always let all kind of sordid affairs happen as they happened, no need to put a finger on them or a label or think back at them after they’ve been over, for that matter.

He never had a steady relationship, to tell the truth.  
Never had what he now really hopes to have with Merriell Shelton.   
Which, in his good Southern Christian boy’s book would require at least a quick chat to assess a common ground, open communication, shared interests.

They have reached the end of the corridor and Snafu’s room by then and he is absentmindedly gazing around at the half unmade bed and the chaotic furnishing of the space that must have been Snafu’s private world since he was little.  
He had seen little glimpse of it for months and he can now recognise where is what, from the few posters on the walls to the work table where Snafu carves his wooden miniatures in his free time.

 _Say something, Eugene Sledge_ he tells himself, stepping inside and turning around to decipher the look on Snafu’s face: timid, almost shy.   
He’s being adorable, something Eugene wouldn’t immediately peg Snafu for, but finds endearing nonetheless. He is in too deep at this point.

“So… this is where the magic happens, uh?” he jokes, immediately regretting it: “Fuck. I don’t know why I said that…” he mutters, blushing profusely.

“Eugene,” calls him Snafu suddenly, surprising him with a calm deep voice and his first name. Just like he always does when they’re about to be serious. When the situation requires him behaving himself: “Do you…” and he stops, leaving the obvious question hanging.

 _Do something, Eugene Sledge_ he tells himself again, this time adding: _and please don’t make it more awkward_.

He gets closer to Snafu, slightly lifting his hands to start playing with the lower hem of Snafu’s pale blue t-shirt, guiding him gently into his personal space, more into the room.

“Will you think differently of me if we’d just…” he trails off for a moment, risking a glance at Snafu’s eyes, round and sincere, like an open window to his feelings: “Stop talking again?” he concludes.

Snafu shakes his head, taking one of Eugene’s hands in his as if this type of connection between them was the only thing giving him enough courage to look back into Eugene’s eyes and smile slightly.

“Do you want to?” he asks, probably the same question he was trying to formulate before.

Eugene nods twice: “I think maybe we should… talk. But I don’t really… know _how_ to say that… I already feel…” he pauses, looking for the right words: “We’re on the same page on this. We’ve been, right from the start.” he admits.

The smile on Snafu’s lips stretch a little further: “So, what’re you suggesting we do?” he asks, closer to Eugene now, their chest almost touching through the fabric of their shirts.

He’s warm. He had tasted sweet before and Eugene wants to feel him again.

“First off, stop talking.” proposes Eugene, against his mouth: “And then, let me show you.” he concludes, sliding his free hand under Snafu’s t-shirt to touch the warmth of his skin while they kiss. Passionately now, savouring every lost breath, embracing each other close, once again.

They fall on the bed soon after, Eugene on his back between Snafu’s arms and knees, the Cajun boy leaning down to keep kissing him.

They’re removing their clothes and throwing them on the already enough messy floor, touching and feeling and losing themselves to the sensation.

Snafu kisses down the column of his neck and Eugene moans, arching his back and closing his eyes as his fingers tangle in the dark curls of Snafu’s soft hair, tugging lightly but not enough to hurt.

He’s breathless in no time, unable to hear his own (presumably very loud) heartbeat, cursing the tingling in his fingertips and on his lips for preventing him to feel more of the other boy, the heating they’re creating, desire rising.

“Merriell.” he sighs weakly and Snafu is tilting his head up, searching for his eyes.

“D’you want ta stop?” he asks, voice hoarse and so deep Eugene is shivering again, shaking his head like he’s gone insane.

“No, sshhh, no.” he repeats, smiling and reaching for the other’s face, cupping his head in both his hands to kiss him deeply, hold him as close as possible.

“Are you… will you tell me?” asks again Snafu, still unsure: “Will you tell me if you want’a stop, _cher_?”

Eugene guides him down on the bed by his side, keeping one arm under the warm skin of Snafu’s shoulder and neck, kissing his lips with soft, smacking noises.

“I will,” he affirms between kisses: “But. I don’t. Want to.” he smiles, pausing to open his eyes and admire how gorgeously dishevelled Snafu already is, flushed tan skin and red puffy lips, messy curls he can’t stop running his fingers through.

He’s made it. He’s making him look like this.

He lifts slightly on his elbow, looking down at Snafu as he moves his hand on his cheekbone and jaw, grazing his mouth with his thumb: “Will _you_ tell me?” he asks, earnestly.

“Yeah. C’mere.” Snafu breaths against his fingers, smiling openly and easily.

Eugene bows down to kiss him again, moving on top of him to touch their bodies together, grind down slowly and sweetly where they’re still separated by their jeans and underwear.

Not for too long, he’s sure.

 

It’s some time later when he wakes up from a well needed nap: outside Snafu’s window is already dark and the house is completely silent in the probably early evening hour.

Snafu’s nested in his arms, still asleep.

There’s a weight on Eugene’s feet and glancing down he can distinguish the big fluffy form of Shuri curled up on both their legs like that’s her right spot to be. It probably is.

“Kick her off is she’s too heavy.” suggests Snafu and Eugene looks back at him, smiling automatically when their eyes meet. He’s so effortlessly beautiful.

Eugene isn’t even able to take count of the time Snafu has stolen his breath away in the last hours, forget since they’ve met. Or should he say, first seen each other.

“What?” Snafu is asking, noticing Eugene’s zoned out expression.

“Nothing, just…” he shrugs: “Nothing.” he repeats, rolling over to pick up his phone and check for missed calls or unopened messages.

His mom has called, but she usually does at around 7 pm. He texts her he’s busy unpacking (she’s still convinced he’s back to college one day early, poor woman… he’s gonna tell her, he promises) and he’ll call her the next day.

Snafu lifts himself to reach for his packet of smokes, lighting one as the cat gets up, stretches and curls back down, this time on her owner’s lap. He scratches behind her ears while puffing out smoke.

Eugene’s father has asked how he’s doing through a text. He texts back he’s fine and catching the 4 am bus to Montevallo that night. He doesn’t really want to, especially now that he’s blissfully sated, naked in bed with Snafu by his side, hearing the soft purrs of Shuri.

Sid has written: ‘ _Did you do something stupid already?_ ’ like he might know.

Eugene snickers and replies: ‘ _Guess what._ ’ watching from the corner of his eyes as Snafu smokes and stretches his naked back like Shuri has done.

Sidney’s reply comes almost immediately: ‘ _My boy. Making me proud._ ’ he reads and then puts his phone away.

Snafu is looking at him, smirking around the filter of his cigarette. Eugene takes it from his lips, calmly inhaling smoke one, two times before giving it back.

“Forgot to pack your precious pipe?” asks Snafu, provocatively.

“Left it at college, mom doesn’t like when I smoke.” he says, risking a scratch behind Shuri’s ear as a proposition of friendship with the big cat. She opens her eyes to consider him, moving her head closer to his hand and purring even louder.  
“Which is funny, considering how I mostly feel the need for it when she’s around.” he jokes, happy he seems to have been accepted by the house’s cat.

Snafu hums, gathering his knees up under the blankets as Shuri gets bored and jumps on the floor, quickly leaving the room through the half-closed door.  
He’s silent, studying him as Eugene slides back down on the bed, looking up at the white ceiling.

“You should come to Montevallo when you have some time.” he suggests after a while.

Snafu nods, puffing out the last of his smoke and turning to extinguish the cigarette on the ashtray by the nightstand: “And some money.” he adds, neutrally.

“I’d like to show you around, have you meeting my friends…” he goes on, closing his eyes to imagine how it would be with Snafu at college with him.

The fantasy is interrupted by something dropping on his stomach: he opens his eyes to see a wooden figurine of a fox, curled around itself, sleeping.  
He recognises it immediately.

“As promised.” says Snafu, watching Eugene take the small object in his hand and study it carefully. There’s an engraving on the bottom, Eugene’s birthday date and the current year, together with a dedication: ‘we will dance’.  
He had been slightly drunk, but he remembers very well the conversation they had and what it means.

It’s like Snafu hadn’t needed words to accept his invitation.

He gets up, shifting closer to Snafu to take his face in his hands, kiss his lips.

“Thank you. I’m…” but he’s suddenly too emotional to continue. His throat is constricted by the rush of affection he feels as he closes his eyes, placing his forehead against Snafu’s, breathing in and out slowly: “Thank you.”

“No needta thank me, Sledgehamma…” says Snafu, as out of breath as Eugene is.

“It’s for… everything. This,” he holds the fox up on his palm: “Today, the past months, the day you sent a funny text to the wrong number…” he smiles.

“T’was a serious text at the time…” protests lightly Snafu, making him snort.

“You are…” he almost chokes up again, but wills himself to continue: “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in… forever, really. I’m so grateful for you and I don’t…” he breathes, hoping he could stop his eyes for stinging with tears: “I don’t want to go now that I’m here.” he admits.

Snafu brushes their noses together before kissing him, eyes closed and fingers lightly caressing Eugene’s jaw and neck.

“Don’t want you to go, _cher_.” he says when they part, looking directly into his eyes with a serious, emotional expression: “Now that I have you.” he adds, covering Eugene’s hand still holding the tiny figurine with his, lifting it to hold it close to his chest.

Eugene smiles, kissing his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“Is it…” he starts, lifting his gaze to once again meet Snafu’s one: “Is it too early to say ‘I love you’?” he asks, nothing but a whisper.

Snafu closes his eyes briefly, like he’s trying to gather up all his strength and courage before he’s smiling, that smile Eugene now recognises as only for him to see, only directed at him when they’re alone, when they’re together.

“It is.” he confirms, but the smile is stretching into a grin now: “And I love you too.” he confesses, earnestly.

They’re kissing and embracing again, shifting together down on the bed, their bodies meeting in heat and utter adoration under the blankets.

“Eugene,” breathes Snafu before they completely lose track of things for the second time: “Gene,” he repeats, his deep voice dripping with care and love: “Ya better set an alarm or we’re missing your bus, _cher_.” he suggests.

Eugene laughs and gets slightly up to reach for his phone.

 

The next time he wakes up it’s because his phone is ringing.

Snafu’s arms are circling his back now, one hand resting on his hip: he moves and mumbles something incoherent against the back of his neck, then stills again, too tired to get up just yet.

Eugene rolls over, turning the alarm off and looking around to asses the state of the room: it’s dark and messy, just like he remembers. He needs to find his clothes.

But first he bends down to kiss Snafu on the ear, before whispering: “I need a shower.”

“Door in front of my room’s.” mumbles the boy, eyes still closed.

“Then I’m out of here. Meeting your cousin outside in 20 minutes.” he tells Snafu.

“Comin’ with ya.” sighs Snafu, trying to move. But Eugene gently presses a hand on his shoulder, to keep him still: “No, sleep.” he says, kissing his forehead for good measure: “Rest. I won’t be able to get on that bus if you’re there to see me off.” he admits.

Snafu opens his eyes and smiles, still looking too sleepy to formulate a coherent reply.

“That’s tempting.” he just smirks.

“Shut up.” laughs Eugene, kissing his lips once more: “Get back to sleep. I’m not saying goodbye.” he states resolutely.

“Me neither.” says Snafu, caressing his hair and face before Eugene musters the will to get up and start looking for at least his underwear.

When he’s mostly dressed and Snafu is most definitely sleeping again, he ventures out of the room and down the stairs, reaching the hallway to get his bag for a change of clothes.

Next to the front door there is a pair of women shoes that wasn’t there before and Eugene figures out Merriell’s mother must have gotten home at some point.

He wonders if she’s seen his bag, if she’d known Eugene would be over. If Snafu still needed to ask her permission to bring a boy home or if they had a different kind of relationship. More open, more like they were friends.

Making less noise as possible in hope of not to wake her up, he climbs back up the stairs and sneaks inside the bathroom to at least wash away the smell of sex before having to sit for hours in close quarters with a lot of strangers.  
He brushes his teeth and combs his hair, looking at his reflection to check if the collar of his shirt covers the marks on his neck that Snafu left to highlight his passage.   
He doesn’t mind them, in fact he can’t wait to be alone in his room to admire each and every one of them to remember their night together for days to come, but right now he wishes to appear presentable in public (and in front of cousin Roe).

Cousin Roe who is already waiting in front of the house when he exits, closing the door behind him.

He’s inside his car, no doubt to keep warm in the chilly weather of the early morning. The sun is slowly coming up and the air is misty, smelling of water and aquatic plants.  
Eugene guesses they must be close to the bayou for having Roxanne and her friends wandering around so close to the neighborhood.

He opens the passenger seat’s door and climbs inside, shivering from the difference in temperature.

Doc turns to look at him with tired eyes, two small slits curved in a kind smile: “Where’s that other guy?” he asks, like he can’t recall the name at the moment.

“Left him sleeping. Would have done the same if I’d hesitated one second more.” he admits, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“Don’t know what you mean, I wake up at 3 am every morning and it’s _so damn splendid_.” jokes the other, reaching for a cartoon tray holding two paper cups of coffee: “Thought you might need this.” he offers.

“Oh God, thank you!” cries Eugene, rushing to grab one cup and take a sip of scalding hot liquid: “You truly are a life saviour.”

“I take my job seriously.” declares cousin Roe, turning the car keys to start the car.

“What about Babe? Did you left him sleeping too or is he back in Philadelphia?” he asks.

“He’s asleep in Philadelphia, for sure.” snorts the other: “Left yesterday afternoon.” he adds, in a whisper.  
Eugene understands instantly the need for a more serious tone.

They drive in silence for a while, Eugene sipping his coffee like his life depends on it (it might as well be, at this hour) and the city slowly waking up in the streets they’re crossing.

Then at a red traffic light cousin Roe finishes his own coffee, clears his throat and asks: “So, had fun?”

“Yup.” he nods, knowing he has to follow up with something else to say: “I like the city, might be coming back soon.”

“Let me know when I should come pick you up.” says simply the driver, watching the light turn green: “Did he behave himself?” he asks then.

“Yeah, no need to worry about that.” smiles Eugene, finishing his coffee in one gulp.

“I’m not exactly worried…” says the Doc in a low voice.

Eugene looks outside his window at the Mississippi running along the road, suddenly remembering the previous day and Snafu’s awed expression after their very first kiss.

“Are we gonna have that conversation when you warn me against breaking his heart?” he asks, half joking and half believing they are headed in that very direction.

“Nah, we aren’t.” catches him off guard the other: “Eugene, I’m not his keeper, I’m his cousin. Part-time best friend… wait, make it a full-time job, actually…” corrects himself the Doc, making him snort.

“What I mean is… all I want for him is to be happy. And I can’t deny he’s been happier since he’s... meet you.” explains the Doc, eyes fixed on the road ahead: “As long as all I have to do is drive you both around and get coffee in return, I won’t complain.” he smiles.

“I’m happy too, you know?” comments Eugene, looking at the Cajun’s profile while he drives: “Since we started texting.”

“Good. Because now you’re a full-time friend of mine too and that means I want you to be happy as well.” states the Doc simply and clear, making Eugene blush and hide his smile by turning his face toward the window.

“I like you guys.” he admits after a beat of silence: “All of you. I like your friendship… wish I’d met more of you while I was here.”

“You’re gonna, sooner or later.” nods Doc: “Seems like you’ve already attached yourself with a Webster in desperate need of advises? That’s starting with a hard task…” he grins.

“I don’t mind…” he mumbles.

He recognises the road they are driving on now, it must be close to the bus station.  
Eugene is suddenly aware of how close he is to leaving this new experience behind.

“But don’t worry too much about him, he’ll be fine. Him and Joe have been planning it for a long time…” Doc is saying and Eugene’s attention goes back to their conversation.

“...wait, who? Liebgott? What does he have to do with it?” he asks, confused.

Roe turns the steering wheel, entering the station’s parking lot: “You really thought he was gonna study marine biology in Boston? He’s headed to California in a few months. Joe has been looking for a place for them to share, near the ocean.” he explains, calmly.

“But… renouncing Harvard?” can’t help but wonder Eugene, as the car stops.

“The things you do for love, I suppose.” comments the Doc, turning the engine off and looking at him with a knowing smile.

Right. Like Eugene hadn’t just traveled 8 hours in more or less one full day for a very similar reason.

“And of course I’m talking about his undying love for sharks and nothing else.” adds cousin Roe, making them both laugh.

They’ve arrived. Eugene looks outside, at the waiting room already filled with people, at the shops opening slowly to sell tickets and newspapers and coffees at the early morning (or late evening) travelers.

He turns to say goodbye to Roe and notices how the other has undid his safety belt to lean across the seat and give him a hug: “Have a safe trip, Eugene.”

“And you a good day at work, Eugene.” he smiles, holding him close a little longer before pulling away and getting out of the car.

“Save a lot of lives.” he waves, once he’s on his feet on the pavement of the station, bag in his hand, feeling like only a distant memory of the boy he was when he was there the previous morning.

The Doc waves back, starting his car once again and driving away soon after.

Eugene checks his phone while he waits for the bus: a text from his dad and one from Sid.

His dad is asking if he got up in time and he figures he could reply once he’s actually on the bus, on his way to college.

Sid’s message reads: ‘ _Cheer up buttercup. I’ll be waiting for you with a beer and a hug or just a hug considered the expected time of your arrival._ ’ and at least that makes him smile.

 

Once he’s safe and sound back in his dorm room, half-passed out on his newly made bed after Sid has helped him unpack and he’s had the much needed second shower of the day, he holds his phone up to send a text.

It’s almost 11 am. Snafu should be up by now, he reasons.

‘ _I’m alive. Gonna sleep for the next few days, tell my professors I’ve hated them._ ’ he writes and hits send, sighing loudly.

Sidney has gone to Mary’s now that Eugene is all settled, figuring he’d need some time alone to sleep (or, more likely, be glum).

‘ _good night cher miss you already_ ’ replies Snafu and it’s like a punch in the gut, the honesty of such a simple text.   
Eugene feels like crying.

‘ _I miss you too._ ’ he chooses to be honest as well: ‘ _It’s crazy. It feels like I’ve known you for far longer than 24 hours?_ ’ and then decides to add: ‘ _I need to see you again soon._ ’

‘ _very_ _soon_ ’ comes in a few seconds. It’s so unlike Snafu to reply this quickly.  
He must feel as desperate as Eugene.  
A small comfort, really.

He turns around on the bed and looks at his desk: the wooden fox is sleeping curled up on one of his biology books at the moment.  
He stretches out to pick it up and hold it close to his chest.

Come the next day, he decides, he’ll have to start planning for his Christmas trip.  
He’ll have to talk to his mother and let her know the truth.

He closes his eyes with this new target in mind and falls asleep in a couple of heartbeats.

 

\---

 

 **Notes** :

 

Rejoyce, fandom! They _love_ each other!

About this chapter, the most important thing I want to say is: I've thought about raising the rating and getting smutty, but then it really didn't match the general narration of this story... I preferred keeping it at them expressing their feelings, for now.  
Another thing I've noticed is how my style of writing changes through the chapters. When I write from Sledge's POV I always feel I'm more into the actions and less into his brain. It's a general feel I have about him: Eugene is still careful about what he thinks and does, but he's less cerebral than Snafu and he's not afraid of what he wants. I hope that's well reflected in how I've written this chapter.

As always let's end with the translation of the small French I've used (still not Cajun French and my level is still pretty much middle school level):

 _Que fait-il encore ici?_ = What's he still doing here?  
_Il a le temp avant de retourner à Philly. De plus, il voulait rencontrer ton petit ami._ = He's got time before having to get back to Philly. Besides, he wanted to meet your boy.

Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think and if you have suggestions on how to (or if I should) continue :)  
Remember you can always find me on Tumblr @brightly-painted-canvas


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December brings in family reunions, new resolutions and a lot of gingerbread cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not beta-ed, English is not my first language**
> 
> Also, this chapter **contains smut**. It is short and probably disappointing, but I thought I'd give in and threat you guys with finally something a bit spicier. You deserve that for being amazing, for always waiting patiently one or two months for an update and for showering this fic with love.
> 
> Thank you, bless you, merry Christmas and happy 2020!

Cousin Roe is baking gingerbread cookies in Snafu’s kitchen at 10 am on a Tuesday morning.

“What the fuck is going on?” asks Snafu coming in, still in his pyjamas. He sits on a stool overviewing the table full of baking trays and sparse ingredients.

“ _ Maman _ broke the oven at Thanksgiving. I asked  _ tante _ if I could borrow hers.” explains plainly his cousin, his back turned as he sits on his heels in front of the oven’s door, checking a baking batch.

“And no one consulted me? I live here.” complains pointlessly Snafu, passing his hand through his ruffled curls and yawning open-mouthed.

“You’re not the owner. You don’t even pay rent.” huffs Gene, while Snafu lifts his phone and snaps a picture of his cousin’s head of jet black hair, lost in a sea of cookie trays.

“I do repairs in here. That’s how I earn my keep, in general.” points out Snafu, busy texting the photo of his morning discovery to Eugene, writing: ‘ _ the great american baking show gets a new contestant _ ’

“ _ Bon pour toi… _ ” comments casually his cousin, standing up and turning around to start putting the cooked, decorated and cooled down cookies in small red bags with Christmas ornaments on them.

Snafu’s phone chimes with a reply: ‘ _ Already my favourite. I’m rooting for him (and those gingerbreads look delicious) _ ’ Snafu smiles fondly, holding his phone in one hand to try and snatch a freshly baked cookie from a tray.

He gets immediately hit with a spatula.

“Hey!” he snaps, affronted, retreating his offended hand.

“These aren’t for you and they’re numbered.” explains the Doc, intransigent, filling yet another bag and pointing at the many trays covering the table and kitchen counter: “These are for Ralph and his wife, these for Renée and her girlfriend and these…” he turns around, to show all the uncooked gingerbreads: “Are for the kids at the hospital.”

“Wait a second… what about me? Or your beloved aunt? Or even your own mother?” asks Snafu, still feigning outrage: “Aren’t you gonna bake for your hopeless moronic boyfriend?”

“Have I ever showed up at Christmas dinner without gingerbread cookies? Keep faith, Merriell, your own batch will come on time.” smiles smugly his cousin, closing each bag of fragrant cookies with a ribbon: “Just like Santa.”

‘ _ he’s being a bitch and not lettin me have one :( _ ‘ he texts Eugene, complete with sad face emoji, while the oven rings and Roe busies himself with replacing yet another tray inside the appliance.

‘ _ Ask nicely. _ ’ promptly suggests the college student.

“What if you used salt instead of sugar? Don’t you need a taster?” he proposes, coming as close as ‘asking nicely’ as he’s able: “I’m volunteering.”

His cousin sighs, shrugs and looks down at the tray he just took out of the oven: “Fine. I guess you can try this one… I was short on dough so he looks like he hasn’t got a leg.” he concedes, picking it up and placing it in front of Snafu: “But you don’t deserve the frosting.” he adds resolutely, producing a sac a poche from his tools’ supply to start decorating the new batch.

“How out of character of you to abandon the crippled.” comments Snafu, but before Roe can take the cookie back he has snatched it up and taken a massive bite.

“How’s it, then?” asks Roe.

“Not bad. Needs frosting. D’ya want milk?” he offers, getting down from his perched position on the stool to reach the fridge and pour himself his awaited breakfast.

“Alright. It’s time I get a sample, too.” says Roe, sitting down on the opposite stool to take a break.

They pause their casual conversation while they eat all the non-compliant cookies the Doc can spare and drink their fresh milk, listening to the oven’s fan whirring and the clock above the fridge ticking. From the living room’s stereo comes the soft melody of a Christmas songs’ playlist.

Then Gene clears his throat and says: “Shall I ask?”

“‘bout wha’?” grumbles distractedly Snafu, still looking down at his phone and with half a cookie still hanging from his mouth.

“My beloved namesake spending the night, last week.” suggests the Doc.

“Depends on how much details you want… I remember you askin’ to be spared.” grins Snafu, like the cat who got the cream.

“You’ve got milk moustache.” says Roe, unimpressed, and Snafu wipes his mouth on his sleeve. His cousin waits only a beat, then adds: “Maybe spare me those kind of details… fade to black at some point. Pan the camera toward the curtains fluttering in the wind and cut to the next morning.”

“But you’d miss the best part!” protests Snafu.

“ _ J’en doute. _ ” deadpans Roe.

“ _ Ta gueule _ . You can’t be that boring, cuz.” says Snafu: “I mean, you a doctor. You own a stethoscope. Can’t make me believe you and Heffron don’t do weird kinky shit in the bedroom when ya got that.” he adds, like he’s offering the ultimate proof of his cousin’s lack of innocence.

“That’s fair. So you’re saying you want to know what I do to Edward with my stethoscope, is that right?” asks the Doc, sounding far too innocent for the sentence he’s just pronounced.

“Fuck no.” refuses Snafu categorically.

“See? No dirty details.” states Roe, finally winning the argument: “Give me the rest, though: how do you feel?” he asks, trying to steer the conversation toward a safer, more serious topic.

“Still a bit sore?” smirks Snafu, incapable of letting go without putting up a fight.

“Merriell, you’re gonna get slapped.” threatens Gene, successfully making the other stop and laugh.

“I feel good.” replies Snafu, once he’s calmed down. He finishes his milk in one gulp and places the empty glass back on the table.

The oven rings and so does Snafu’s phone, but he doesn’t pick it up immediately for once: he looks at his cousin placidly, with his characteristic round eyes half closed, his lips curling up just slightly.   
There is a moment of calmness, as the playlist shifts from ‘White Christmas’ to ‘Let it Snow’.

“I’m real good, Gene.” he repeats, with confidence: “For once.”

“Good. Is he good too?” asks his cousin, getting up to open the oven and once again replacing the cooked batch with a still raw one.

“I think so, yeah. We kinda talked… and not talked.” he tries and fails to elaborate.

Roe turns around to send him a confused glance, one eyebrow raised.

“He said we should have talked. But then he said he knew we were on the same page since the beginning. And so we didn’t have like… a conversation. About… that.” explains a little more Snafu, still sounding way too unclear, then adding: “And he said he didn’t know if it was too soon to say he loved me, so I said it first.” while shrugging slightly, but looking a bit more self-conscious.

His cousin stops in his track and studies his expression, while Snafu fixes his stares on anything but the other person in the room, not knowing why he’s feeling so nervous all of sudden.

“And you regret it?” asks softly Gene, obviously trying to understand.

“What? No.” he denies, bewildered: “I love him.” he states, then his deep voice wavers just a bit as he repeats: “I do love him.”

Roe nods, looking like he is collecting his thoughts while he sets a new timer on the oven and bring the still hot tray to the table.

He waits for Snafu to return his glance before asking: “What is it?”

Snafu knows his cousin can read him like an open book just by meeting his eyes: he knows they’ve always been too expressive for his own good, for sure immediately filling with so much uncertainty and self-doubt that his cousin’s expression softens a little at the mere sight of him.   
Gene already knows, instinctively, what’s wrong.

“It’s the first time I’ve said it. I’m not sure I understand… if I’m capable of…” tries to elaborate Snafu.

“You are.” interrupts him Roe, but Snafu keeps on.

“If I’m good enough… I’m not. I can’t be enough for…”

“Merriell, come here.” orders the Doc, abruptly.

He lifts his head: “What?” he asks, confused.

Gene just gestures for him to reach his side of the table: Snafu goes and he’s suddenly standing in front of his cousin, back straight like the Doc is about to measure his height and weight.

Gene keeps silent, beckoning Snafu to place his right hand in the centre of his own chest, above his sternum.

“What are we doin’?” asks Snafu, skeptically.

“What do you hear?” says Roe, steadily.

Snafu pauses, unsure of how to respond: he hears the oven, Frank Sinatra’s voice from the adjacent room, the ticking of the clock, the traffic outside.

He hears and feels his heartbeat. He says as much.

“How does it go?” asks again his doctor cousin.

Snafu shakes his head in disbelief, but then smiles as he repeats the sound of his beating heart: “Like… tum-tum… tum-tum…” he offers.

“What does that mean?” goes Roe and this time Snafu almost laughs.

“I don’t know, the doctor’s you! What d’ya think it means?” he repeats.

“Well, firstly: that you haven’t got a heart murmur, which is good. Secondly, that you’ve actually got a heart. It may be small and dark, but it’s there nevertheless.” he smirks, making Snafu roll his eyes.

Gene keeps on: “And I’m gonna say what follows irregardless of the years of medical studies I’ve dealt with, so listen closely: it means you’re capable of feelings. You’re equipped with what is needed to feel emotions, Merriell.” he points out.

“Don’t that…?” starts Snafu, but his cousin shushes him.

“I said ignore the scientific aspect of it all.” a pause: “Don’t overlook how you feel, okay? You know how to love him. Just do that as unapologetically as you do everything else.” says Roe, way more tenderly than expected, but still showing his strong belief in the tone of his voice and the glint in his eyes.

“Okay…” nods Snafu, relieved and grateful for the straightforwardness of his cousin’s speech.

_ If Gene says so _ ,  _ it must mean something _ . Maybe it’ll take a bit more time for him to believe in himself as much as his cousin does unconditionally believe in him, but he’ll eventually come to accept the fact that yes, Eugene Sledge chose him. They said ‘I love you’ to each other.   
They’re good.

“I’m happy for you.” says Roe in conclusion, patting the hand Snafu still has on his own chest: “Love is nice, isn’t it?” he asks, voice still soft with emotions.

“Kinda. It makes me feel so stupid all the time…” admits Snafu, smiling and instantly feeling a lot better, like a heavy weight has been lifted from his frame.

“Oh, no. That’s just a spark of sudden awareness: you’ve always been stupid.” teases his cousin, resuming his work in the kitchen.

“Woah, what the fuck happened to you? Ya used to be the nice one!” comments Snafu, circling the table to get his phone and check Eugene’s latest message.

“Must be the Christmas spirit…” sing-songs the Doc, once again crouched in front of the oven.

“And? You’re going with naughty this year? You want Santa to spank you? Is that your kink?” asks Snafu, too amused to try and hide his growing smirk.

“I was going with ‘Santa told me not to tell lies’ but hey, if we’re going back on that track… let’s see. Spanking. What do we have on spanking…?” he mumbles, acting like he’s seriously considering the topic.

“I’m outta here! You’re a sinner! Don’t explode my kitchen!” calls loudly Snafu, exiting the kitchen to climb up the stairs and go get changed to start the day.

 

‘ _ I’ve heard from Webster. _ ’ texts Eugene that evening, after half a day of complete absence due to study and classes: ‘ _ Did you know he uses at least one shark emoji after every text he sends? _ ’

‘ _ what a freak _ ’ replies Snafu after rolling over in his bed to pick up his phone. He was previously planted face down on the pillow Eugene had used while he was there, which still faintly smells like him and which makes Snafu feel all funny inside.

‘ _ I’m starting to fear he speaks Shark and those are coded messages I can’t understand. _ ’ writes the college student and Snafu snorts loudly, pushing himself up just enough to reach for his almost finished pack of cigarettes.

‘ _ dunno bout shark but they speak kraut sometimes it’s freaky _ ’ he sends, conversationally. Then he puts his phone down on the bed to be able to light a cigarette and take a first, deep drag.

‘ _ You mean German? Him and Liebgott? _ ’ asks Eugene right after.

‘ _ yeah like they had to go n find the scariest language ever to sound even more angry when they fight _ ’ he elaborates, shaking the tip of his cigarette in the ashtray on his nightstand.

‘ _ Interesting. Should we choose our own language to speak in code? _ ’ suggests Eugene.

‘ _ learn french and were good cher _ ’ he writes: ‘ _ or like morse signal i always wanted to learn that _ ’ he proposes.

‘ _ Wouldn’t your cousin understand us if we go for French? _ ’ asks candidly Eugene after a while, probably busy doing something or commuting to some place. Snafu has finished his cigarette by then and has been found by Shuri, who curls up beside him and lazily closes her eyes.

‘ _ gene our granmere was a psychic he already knows everything about anyone anyway _ ’ he explains.

‘ _ Like that isn’t freaky. _ ’ comments Eugene, but then Snafu’s phone is ringing with an incoming call and he answers, puzzled.

“Takes more time writing and I wanted to hear you. I don’t even know why I bother texting anymore.” sounds Eugene’s voice from the speaker.

“We’re that kind of a couple. Tied to traditions.” sighs Snafu, his grin definitely audible in his fond tone.

“Ugh, I’d hate that. Let’s never celebrate an anniversary, ever. Sid and Mary are bad enough…” jokes Eugene.

“Fuck Sledgehamma,  _ now _ you say? I have to cancel the ten thousands roses order I made for our ‘one week since we met’ thing!” he counters back, making them both laugh.

“Anyway… David said he’d like to come visit for a few days. I think he mentioned the day after tomorrow, actually…” says Eugene, getting back to the reason why he called.

“Come again, boo?” asks Snafu, frowning slightly at the wall at the end of his bed.

“Webster. You know that’s his name, right? He said he wants to see my faculty, how’s the atmosphere in the biology department…” explains calmly Eugene from the other end of the phone.

“He’s coming to your college? Before I do? What the  _ fuck _ ?” protests Snafu, whining a little at the prospect.

“He’s actually got the money to spend on the flight? I can’t help it, Mer.” says Eugene, even sounding apologetic.

“How come he has more money than you? Or me? I work and he’s got disowned.” complains again Snafu, seriously considering lighting up his last cigarette to quench his disappointment.

“He hasn’t got disowned, c’mon… play nice.” chastises him Eugene.

“Fine.” he sighs, realising he really doesn’t want to have a discussion over such a topic at the moment: “But he’s not sleeping in your bed.” he can’t help but demand vehemently.

“He’s sleeping in Sid’s. Sid’s sleeping with Mary in Mary’s room.” explains patiently Eugene.

“...you’re welcome, Phillips.” comments Snafu.

“He’s returning the favour when I finally get you here, don’t worry.” says Eugene and he doesn’t even try to disguise the suggestive tone in his voice.

Snafu truly needs to compliment himself: he’s gone and disinhibited a righteous and pure boy with just 24 hours of proximity and a few rounds of mind-blowing sex.

“Feisty…” he mumbles, even wiggling his eyebrow at absolutely no one, alone as he is in his room.

“Behave.” laughs Eugene: “At least until I see you again.” he adds.

“Don’t know if I can do that,  _ cher _ …” he replies, sliding just a bit more down on his bed: “Are you alone, Gene? In your room? Or even better in public?” he asks, accent thicker than ever so that Eugene can hear the slurred and slow tone he likes so much.

“I’m grocery shopping with Mary and her roommate and they just commented how disgusting I sound when I’m talking to you, so you better stop or I’m hanging up.” warns the college student.

“Nice. And what are you wearin’?” he asks, amused and completely undeterred.

“Bye, Mer! Talk to you later!” exclaims loudly Eugene before effectively hanging up the phone.

Snafu sighs and drops the phone on his pillow, passing both hands over his face. He laughs softly against his palms.

 

The next day Snafu is walking home from a repair job he took up in the neighborhood when he bumps into a few familiar faces on the sidewalk, just outside an old warehouse in which locals have recently started organizing flea markets and charity sales.

The owners and waiters of Currahee pub are just coming out of the store: Ron ‘Sparky’ Speirs holding the doors open for Lip and Winters, both heavily burdened by bags of what looks like a multitude of packets wrapped in Christmas themed paper. Right behind them strolls casually Nix, looking like he’s trying very hard not to feel out of place in such a festive-filled environment.

“Let me take some of those.” proposes Speirs to Lip as soon as they’re all outside and Snafu is suddenly aware that he might have tried to make it sound like a gentle offer, but it just came out as an order, like most of Sparky’s lines.

“Ron, I can manage.” replies as softly as usual Carwood, unperturbed and probably too used to the other’s authoritative tone.

“Don’t look at me like that.” says Nixon right after, shrugging at Winters: “I haven’t offered.”

“Of course you haven’t, Lew.” sighs the tall redhead, heading the group down the street and towards were Snafu has stopped to witness the scene and light up a cigarette: “Although half of these are yours.” points out Winters, slightly lifting the bags he’s carrying in both hands.

“Exactly half of each box, you’re correct.” asserts the brunette, nodding: “That’s the best part of deciding to halve the Christmas present’s expenses, Dickie.”

“Yeah boy!” exclaims Lip cheerfully, spotting Snafu on the sidewalk and interrupting the bickering couple right before him and Speirs, who’s still trying unsuccessfully to steal at least one of the bags out of his partner’s hands.

“Hey.” he replies casually, lifting his empty hand to mock a military salute: “Have you closed down the pub or somethin’?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“We left it in safe hands.” smiles reassuringly Winters.

“Vest’s? And Luz’s?” questions skeptically Nix, raising one eyebrow.

“They’re gonna be fine if it’s just for a little while.” says calmly Lipton, always the peace-maker.

“They better be fine.” comments Speirs and once again he sounds way to threatening for it to be a complete coincidence.

“Anyway, we’re done now and we’re heading back.” says Winters to end the conversation: “Are you coming with us, Shelton?” he offers kindly.

“Heading home, but I may stop by later.” shrugs the Cajun, still smiling amusedly for having witnessed a tiny glimpse of the strange type of relationships the four men seem to share.

“Okay, see you around!” greets cheerfully Lipton when the group starts walking again and soon they’re out of Snafu’s vision.

He shakes his head and finishes his cigarette, deciding he’s going to share the whole encounter with Eugene, later.

Just when he is about to resume his walk home, his eyes fall back toward the entrance of the warehouse and he’s suddenly compelled to step inside and have a look.

As he opens the doors he’s invested by warm air smelling of baked goods and filled with the melody of a Christmas song: the place is full of stands selling all kinds of merch, from food to clothing. A few glances here and there to the closest booths suggest him that most of the things on sale are handmade and are being sold to fund this or that charity organisation.

Snafu strolls around for a while, noticing a stall selling gingerbread cookies at which he buys a set of cutters with funny shapes for his cousin. After a full circle around the market, he’s met with a booth selling wooden figurines and utensils and he stops long enough to catch the eyes of the girl behind the table.

“Looking for something in particular?” she asks, smiling and shaking her head so that her long colourful braids dance in front of her dark eyes.

He hesitates for a moment, then decides to ask: “How do you become exhibitor in here?”

“There’s a form to fill and sign at the entrance desk, a fee to pay… and then you get your stand. Why, have you got something to sell?” she replies, sounding curious.

“Similar to your stuff.” he nods.

“Cool. You carve?” she keeps on.

Snafu nods again and takes his phone out of his pocket to show her his latest works: “Just a hobby, in my free time.” he explains while she studies his photos carefully.

“You’re good.” she states then, easily: “You have half my spot. We can share the cost of the stand.” she proposes, smiling again: Snafu notices her purple lipstick, same shade of the tip of her braids. “The big chunk of my sales go to an animal rescue shelter, but you can decide which association you want for your donations.” she concludes, extending her hand toward him.

“Lea.” she says.

He shakes her hand: “Snafu.”

“I like that!” she exclaims, amused by his nickname: “Give me your number, Snafu. We can plan this thing out.” she demands bluntly, picking up her own phone from her side of the table.

 

“... then she texted me her Paypal and that was that. I’m taking my stuff there tomorrow before work.” he finishes explaining his weird afternoon to Eugene over their usual evening FaceTime call.

“She sounds the right amount of crazy for you two to get along.” comments the student, sitting on his bed with his back resting against the wall and looking down at the screen of his phone with an amused expression. His room is dark apart from the orange lamp on his table and the light coming from the phone.

Snafu is in a similar position in his own darkened room: “Yeah, she’s nice.” he agrees.

“Don’t forget to tell her you’ve got a boyfriend.” mumbles Eugene, a remark that Snafu could have completely missed if he hadn’t been listening closely.

He smiles incredulously, biting his lower lip before asking: “You jealous, Sledgehamma?”

“I might be.” says Eugene, shifting his gaze in embarrassment, blushing so darkly that even the bad lighting of the room does nothing to conceal it.

“Aaaw.” coos Snafu, touched: “You’re human!”

“Yeah, well… I’m made of flesh and blood too. And you walk around looking like that… when you’re not frowning like you’re planning a mass murder you might be breaking the heart of every passerby you meet.” explains Sledge, once again ending it in almost an unintelligible mumble.

“You’ve got a distorted image of me in your head, boo.” says Snafu, poking fun at him a little more.

“You don’t think you’re hot?” asks Eugene, genuinely confused.

“Not that. I mean I don’t plan mass murders, just selective ones.” specifies Snafu, making the other laugh out loud, a happy sound filling the phone line and Snafu’s otherwise silent room.

“So, planning on doing something tonight with your hot boyfriend?” he asks, sounding not at all as innocently as he was trying to.

“Why, is he coming over?” asks Eugene, still smiling.

“May be comin’, not sure about the over…” he smirks back, looking directly at the phone’s camera.

“Crude. Seriously, Merriell…” comments Eugene, faking being offended.

“Hey, you served that right out,  _ cher _ . Had to take the opportunity.” he justifies himself.

“Fine. My fault.” admits Eugene, not sounding convinced at all.

“Yeah, you better behave.” fakely reprimands him Snafu. He glances back at the closed door and listens carefully for the sound of Shuri in the room or of his mother in the corridor, but nothing comes for a while.

Satisfied, he shifts a bit more down on his bed and asks bluntly: “What are you wearing?”

“Are we really doing this? Now?” asks Eugene, blushing again: “I don’t even know when Sid’s gonna be back…” he adds as an excuse, looking out of the screen frame to probably check his own door.

“Let’s not waste time, then.” says Snafu, unmovable.

“I’m wearing what you can see I’m wearing.” concedes Eugene, sighing: “This sweater and a pair of black jeans.”

“Socks?” asks Snafu, trying to ease the tension he can see has set in Eugene’s shoulders.

He’s partially successful, because Eugene scoffs fondly and turns his phone so that the camera can show his feet dangling from the edge of the bed and the socks he’s wearing: “Christmas themed, as tradition.”

Snafu has to get the screen closer to his face to actually be able to make out what the theme truly is: “Rudolph?” he asks, bewildered.

“Just a non-specified reindeer, I’m afraid. It doesn’t have a red nose.” explains Eugene.

“They’re ugly as sin.” murmurs Snafu, and the camera pans immediately back to Eugene’s affronted expression.

“How dare you!” he exclaims: “They’re my favourites!”

“You’ve got others?” asks Snafu, by then slightly disturbed by the whole conversation he unintentionally generated.

“Of course I do. One pair for each day of December until Christmas.” says Eugene, like it’s obvious: “My own personal advent calendar.”

Snafu shakes his head and sighs: “Gross. Take ‘em off.”

“Are you serious?” Eugene doesn’t let it slide: “It’s my right to a festive themed clothing schedule, it’s almost Christmas!” he protests vehemently.

“It’s December 13th.” notes Snafu.

“What’s your point? They’re staying on. My feet’re cold.” says resolutely Eugene, even lifting his nose like he’s throwing a tantrum.

“Take them off,  _ please _ ?” tries Snafu, starting to sound desperate: “Just knowing they exist is killing my libido.”

“Then let it perish, see if I care.” replies Eugene, clicking the end call button and leaving Snafu alone in his dark room with half a boner.

He sighs heavily once again, throwing the phone away from him on the bed and his head back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling, gathering his patience, strength and thoughts.

He waits about two minutes before taking his phone back once again and calling Eugene off FaceTime, just to quickly let him hear his voice. His boyfriends picks up right after the first ring.

“I’m sorry.” he immediately murmurs, as softly as he dares.

They truly have to fight about the most ridiculous things.

For a moment he can’t hear a sound from the other side of the phone so he checks if the line is still up and then asks: “Gene?”

At that there is a sudden intake of breath and then Eugene is speaking: “Take off your clothes.” with an authoritative tone that instantly makes shivers run down Snafu’s spine.

“Are you…?” he asks uncertain, still slightly confused.

“Shut up, Shelton.” intimates the other: “Let me see you.” he orders, again.

Snafu’s heart leaps in his throat..

He exhales a single: “Gene…” and closes his eyes, feeling the mood shift again and his arousal return.

“You’re gonna let me do the talk and listen carefully.” says Eugene and Snafu nods automatically like his boyfriends can actually still see him.

He spreads his legs slightly, already uncomfortable in the confinement of his clothes: “You’re gonna behave and let me use that mouth of your for something far better than talking, right Snaf?” asks Eugene, like a sudden punch in the guts.

Snafu can only breathe harder against his phone, waiting.

He shift so that he can lift his hips to push his sweatpants down and take his shirt off, shivering for the chill of the air hitting his bare chest and for Eugene’s suddenly husky voice coming from the phone once again.

“I’m tired of talking, aren’t you? We’re far better at kissing…” says Eugene and Snafu hears noises from his side, like he’s also shifting on his bed, taking his clothes off: “Imagine me kissing you right now, my love. Are we good?” he asks.

Snafu dares making an affirmative sound, while his free hand travels slowly up his body, fingertips ghosting around his neck, up his jaw and cheeks, picturing Eugene doing it to him, caressing his skin with his lips.

“Yeah, we’re good kissers.” agrees Eugene, a breathless chuckle tinting his voice.

“You know what we’re also very good at, Merriell?” he asks again and Snafu has to bite his lower lip to suppress a whine.

“Touch yourself.” commands Eugene and Snafu immediately obeys, finally taking himself in his hand, feeling his cock pulsating and already leaking pre-cum on his own calloused, cold hand.

But Eugene’s hands are soft and warm, he remembers. They stroked him like that, but they felt differently…

“Fuck…” he cries out, unable to hold it back, eyes closed shut in an effort to deceive his own body, making it feel Eugene’s touch instead of his own.

“Yeah. Exactly…” pants Eugene, each word followed by forced punctuation, a pause in which Eugene takes short, labored breaths.

Snafu can hear him too now, in the complete silence on this and that side of the line, the sound of his boyfriend jerking off.

“We’re so good… we’re good at fucking.” says Eugene and Snafu nods without even realising, leaving the phone on his pillow against his ear to free his hand, let it touch his own body like Eugene would do.

“Yeah…” he chokes out, can’t help but smile a little.

“If I had you here all to myself, Mer… we’d never leave the room.” keeps on Eugene, each panting breath sending a full body shiver down Snafu’s spine.

He’s close… he’s already so close, it’s embarrassing.

“I’d keep fucking you until we can’t even talk anymore, my love.” he adds and Snafu is losing his mind. He moans loudly, a sound so desperate it is much like a sob.

But Eugene doesn’t stop: “No. More. Talking.” he groans: “Only me filling you.” he chokes, strained and sounding like he’s close himself: “Making you come, over and over, just by fucking you. So. Hard.”

“Gene…” repeats Snafu, helplessly.

“Merriell.” calls Eugene in a single, strained breath: “Come for me.”

And Snafu does, all over his hand, once again obeying Eugene’s order.

“Oh, fuck…” he groans, when he’s finally regained enough breath and working brain cells to get up and clean himself, taking his phone back to ask: “You alright there, Genie?”

“All good.” replies Eugene, already sounding lazier, satied.

“That was…  _ woah _ , that was.” he tries and fails to describe the experience.

“Yeah t’was.” agrees Eugene: “And guess what? Still got my reindeer socks on!” he adds cheerfully, making Snafu groan again and face-plant himself on his pillow, completely giving up the cause.

 

The next morning Snafu gets helped by his cousin and Babe to pack his wooden figurines and, taking advantage of the Doc’s car, take the boxes to the warehouse.

“Should I choose an organisation for you?” asks Gene, sat on one of Lea’s stools with the papers Snafu has to fill in and sign to become an exhibitor. Together with Lea, the other two are putting on display the items on the cleared out half of the stand.

“Is there…” starts asking Snafu, then he’s suddenly lowering his voice: “Is there something for the homeless?” he sends a look to his cousin that he’s sure the other knows how to interpret.

Gene nods and lowers his gaze back on the sheet, reading loudly one or two names. They decide for one providing food and warm clothes and blankets to those sleeping in shelters and in the streets and Gene leaves them briefly to give back the completed document at the desk.

“Have you seen this?” asks Heffron after a while, showing the screen of his phone to Snafu: there’s an Instagram post on it with a picture showing Webster taking a selfie with Sledge and Phillips in what looks like a park. Under the photo there’s a caption saying ‘ _ today’s tour guides to better navigate Montevallo Uni _ ’ and the name of the profile is ‘ _ davidk.web _ ’.

“That would explain this.” replies Snafu, lifting his own phone to show a text received from Liebgott some minutes prior, saying: ‘ _ tell that carrot nerd your dating and his sidekick to keep his hands in check _ ’.

“Seriously? Jealous much? Of  _ Webster _ ?” comments Heffron bewildered and, in that moment and that moment only, Snafu thinks this kid might actually be a little cool: “What are you gonna reply?” he asks then.

“Ain’t gonna.” shrugs Snafu, putting his phone down to finish arrange his works on the table.

“What. C’mon, defend Sledge’s honour. I would hate to be called ‘carrot nerd’.” says Heffron.

Snafu already regrets the small inch of respect he felt for the guy just a second before.

“No idea what to say…” he mumbles.

“Okay, let me. I know how to deal with this.” decides Heffron, taking Snafu’s phone and opening Liebgott’s text again, fastly typing a reply.

Snafu is too stunned to protest or try to take back his phone, so he just watch the scene with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. His cousin, by then returned from the registration desk, sends him a confused look.

When he gets his phone back there’s a message sent which reads ‘ _ hey lieb its babe! two nerds of the same species dont copulate with one another everyone knows. bye & happy hanukkah! _ ’ and that’s that.

“Really?” he simply asks.

“It’s almost Hanukkah, his family cares about that a lot.” explains Heffron like that is the part needing an explanation: “And this works as a reply to Web…” he adds, lifting his phone to snap a selfie of him, Snafu, Lea and Roe all around the stand’s table and looking up at the camera, surprised by the candid shot.

Satisfied with the result, he uploads it on Instagram and spends some times adding tags.

“What did he do?” asks the Doc under his breath, approaching Snafu.

“I don’t even care at this point…” he sighs, feeling uncharacteristically apathetic.

‘ _ Private Eugene B. Sledge reporting for duty: 10 am and the subject hasn’t yet spoken other languages than English. I’ll be keeping you posted on developments. Over. _ ’ texts Eugene, making him smile.

‘ _ the moment he starts with german ya better run cher _ ’ he replies.

‘ _ It’s the Shark that I fear the most. _ ’ admits Eugene, forcing him to suppress a laugh.

Lea sends him a worried smile, like she’s trying to determine if he’s happy or another shade of angrily detached she has yet to witness.

‘ _ How’s the charity sale going? _ ’ asks Eugene right after.

Snafu is about to open his camera app and snap a picture of the finally completely arranged table when a sudden thought hits him and he just types: ‘ _ check heffrons ig _ ’ and sends, satisfied.

 

“He stayed for chemistry and microbiology class. I think he’s had fun.” reports dutifully the next evening Eugene, after Webster has left the campus and Sid is transferring back to their room.

Snafu is stirring a tomato and shrimps soup in a pot and is listening to his boyfriend’s phone call on speaker.

He makes a non-committal sound from his throat, signaling he’s paying attention, but doesn’t care much at all. He also knows Eugene wants to talk about these things, so he lets him.

“In the evening we went out with Sid’s teammates, the guys from H dormitory… in retrospect, I think having him meet Leckie has been a bad idea.” says Eugene.

“Why’s that?” asks Snafu, frowning at the food simmering on the stove.

“He’s a literature guy too. They started a conversation over this and that author and discussed for hours, it was… interesting, but also slightly disturbing to see.” comments Eugene.

“Did they throw books at each other?” asks again Snafu, slightly confused.

“No, they actually agreed. Mostly. I even tried to participate a bit, but they’re both the nihilist verging on full pessimist type of writers who probably consider cutting their wrists and getting dangerously drunk on absinthe is the best way to write poems so I left them at it after a while.” explains plainly Eugene: “It was a self preservation instinct.”

“Good. Glad you have that.” says Snafu, amused.

“Yeah, me too. Then he invited us to Frisco once he’s settled. To show us around his faculty in exchange.” adds Eugene, still casually.

Snafu turns off the stove and grabs the nearest bowl to serve his food, while inquiring: “You and Leckie?”

“Me and you. And I think he mentioned also Doc and Babe.” replies Eugene, sounding amused: “Said we can stay in the city. He’s probably going to be living in an apartment the size of a shoebox with Joe, but Joe’s parents have a lot of rooms and a strange passion for hospitality.” he adds: “Said it comes from having too many kids.”

“How many? Surely they don’t beat the Roes.” bets Snafu, confident. He grabs his phone from the kitchen counter to take it with him and his dinner to the table, sitting on his favourite stool.

“They’re seven, Joe included.” reveals Eugene from the speaker.

“Fuck, they  _ do _ beat the Roes.” mumbles Snafu around his first spoonful of soup.

“Would you mind going to San Francisco?” asks then Eugene, more serious and focused all of sudden.

“I’m coming to yours first. Then we’ll see.” promises Snafu and he knows from experience that promising this kind of things is risky, but he can’t help himself: money and time be damned, he’s going to visit Eugene in the future, no matter how far that future is still.

Eugene just hums and Snafu eats in silence for a few moments.

“You know you went kinda close when you said he’s been disowned.” says then the college student, far more quietly and thoughtfully.

“Yeah?” he asks, sure this statement is going to have a quick follow up.

“He hasn’t spoken with his parents for a while. His tuition comes from a trust fund opened by his grandfather when he was born, but it can only be used to pay for a Harvard enrolment. He’s already almost lost it by choosing Lit instead of Law.” explains calmly Eugene: “Going to Frisco, he’s gonna lose that too.”

“Rich people shit’s complicated.” comments Snafu.

Eugene simply goes on: “He doesn’t think they know about Joe.”

“What?” exclaims Snafu, while filling his glass with water.

“They never accepted his coming out and he was alienated from the family since. I think he still talks regularly with his sister and brother, but they probably don’t share it with their parents, out of fear.” says Eugene, his voice now a soft, trembling small thing.   
Of course he’s sensitive about the topic. Of course he is.

Snafu stops what he’s doing, picking up the phone to turn off the speaker mode and press it closer to his ear. He needs to give Eugene his full attention and the privacy this conversation deserves.

“They don’t know their own son has a person in his life, someone special to him. They don’t know his friends and probably even that he likes sharks and that the Liebgotts have been taking care of him for years and that he wants to become a marine biologist.” murmurs Eugene, almost in one single, painful breath.

“That sucks,  _ cher _ .” says Snafu, feeling at loss of words.

“Yeah. And he said it all to me like it doesn’t matter, like he knows he’s not gonna have a family back. He doesn’t have a family anymore.” concludes Eugene.

Snafu doesn’t dare speak. He sucks in a single breath and waits.

“But I do, Merriell. You get it? I do have a family, I have a good relationship with them and I love them.” says Eugene, strongly this time.

“Yeah, Gene. Of course.” nods Snafu, motionless and completely invested in the conversation. He wants to express all his support on the matter, but can’t find the right way of doing it.

“I think talking with David has made me realise I can’t procrastinate in telling my parents about us any longer. They deserve to know… it’s time.” says Eugene and each word sounds like it weighs a ton. But he’s resolute in his decision and Snafu can only smile.

“I’m here. No matter what, we’ll be okay.” he states, emotionally and trying his best to sound encouraging: “You’ll be okay. Because they’re gonna love you no matter what, I’m sure of it.”

“And if they… don’t?” asks Eugene, fragile and unsure no matter how he’s trying his damn best to sound the very opposite.

“We take care of you. Me,  _ maman _ ,  _ tante _ , my cousins… all of Doc’s friends. We’re family too,  _ cher _ .” says Snafu: “But it won’t come to that. Alright, love?” he asks, wanting to hear Eugene believe that as much as he does.

“Yeah.” sighs Eugene, relieved and almost like he’s smiling: “Thank you, Mer. I love you.”

“And my weird family?” he asks, to lighten the mood.

Eugene’s laugh comes from the phone and once again makes Snafu’s stomach do a weird jumping and fluttering thing: “And your family.” he agrees.

They change topic and Snafu goes back to his dinner.

Eugene only goes back to that conversation once in the course of the next week, saying he’s waiting for when he’ll be home for Christmas to have the conversation with his parents.

 

Eugene, Sid and Mary head to Mobile on the 20th of December.

Snafu and Lea’s booth sells pretty well in the last days before Christmas, so much that Lea and Heffron team up to open a joined Instagram account for their merch and print a few business cards to keep on the stand’s table and give to the clients.

The Roes organise a Christmas eve dinner and a Christmas day brunch in order to celebrate all together since Gene has an afternoon shift on the 25th, his mother works on the 24th and more than half the family has to get back to New Orleans from wherever the place they’re living in at the moment.

The preparation business proceed at intense speed and everyone gets involved in helping, which means Snafu spends far more time than usual with his relatives and at the charity market and far less time messing around, talking to Eugene on the phone.

The exchange of texts is still frequent, but the long FaceTime and phone calls are more than once postponed or canceled. It’s like they are back on square one, when they didn’t know or completely trusted each other and it took weeks before their first, tense and heartfelt call.

The memory is bittersweet: Snafu sometimes misses those days when they had yet so much to discover about one another, the uncertainty of it all, the daydreaming about meeting in real life and  _ what if he doesn’t like me, what if he only wants us to be friends… _

But, on days when he only manages to get and send a few texts from his boyfriend, what Snafu misses the most is simply Eugene: being able to touch and kiss and taste him. Now that he knows the feeling of it all, he can’t bear them being apart for too long.

And the busy days aren’t helping his sense of longing at all.

“I had a chat with dad in his study.” says Eugene over the phone, that one evening Snafu is getting home from work and he’s finally able to call him, while riding the bus.

“How’d it go?” he asks, sighing tiredly as he slumps against one of the poles, looking around at the other tired faces of the commuters.

“He said he knew you weren’t just a friend the moment I asked him to cover for me at Thanksgiving.” he reports and he’s somehow smiling, Snafu can tell. He closes his eyes briefly to picture his boy, what his childhood bedrooms looks like, what his family home looks like…

“He’s okay with it. Said he wants to meet you. That he loves me…” narrates Eugene and his voice breaks with emotion. Snafu’s eyes are watering too, and he looks out of the window, not wanting to be seen crying by a bus full of strangers.

He’s happy for Eugene. He can’t help thinking about his own father. But he won’t, can’t tell.

“‘Course he do, boo.” he simply says after regaining steadiness in his voice.

“He wants to be there to support me when I tell mom. I think I’ll do it after dinner.” explains Eugene, and he sounds calmer now, resolute.

Snafu feels something he doesn’t even know how to express.

“I’m proud of you.” he exhales, choosing the thing that seems close enough.

“I love you, Merriell. And she needs to know.” adds Eugene in a breath.

“Yeah.” he nods, looking back at the inside of the bus, at the unknown faces of a bunch of people with different lives, different problems, different reasons to be there at that moment, tired as he is, hopeful as he is.

“I love you too, Eugene.” he says, a bit louder maybe, and thinking  _ merry fucking Christmas to whoever’s listening _ .

He loves a boy. He fucking loves him so much.

 

Later that day, when he’s at his aunt’s house to help the Doc and Heffron bake the infamous gingerbread cookies, he gets a text.

‘ _ I told her. _ ’ it only says.

‘ _ hows she take it? _ ’ he quickly types back, after wiping his dirty hands on a towel and sending an alarmed look at his cousin, who immediately stops what he’s doing and comes closer.

‘ _ She… took it. _ ’ is Eugene’s reply, followed by: ‘ _ I don’t even know if I’m relieved or disappointed. She just said okay and got up to make tea. _ ’

Snafu knows he shouldn’t but he needs advices on how to deal with this situation, so he reads out the text to his cousin, who smiles sympathetically: “These things take time.” he says.

Snafu writes as much, while Heffron looks at them puzzled and stops his own task, understanding they’re having a small break.

‘ _ I think deep down she’s always known. More than I did, even. _ ’ goes on Eugene and Snafu can only show the screen of his phone at the Doc and Heffron, who has joined them.

“Mothers usually do.” comments the redhead from Philadelphia, smiling as Gene acts uncharacteristically out of nerves and emotions, shifting closer to him to let his boyfriend circle his arms around his middle, hugging him steady and familiarly.

Snafu knows there’s a story behind this gesture, but he won’t ask. His cousin has also been preoccupied for Sledge and Snafu is happy he looks slightly relieved, at the moment.

“I want to do more for him.” he admits, sending one last message to assure Eugene they’re gonna talk later when he’s done with the preparations and then putting his phone down.

At that, silence briefly falls between the three of them.

Heffron slightly nudges Gene’s head with his, forcing the other to send him an inquisitive side-glance. When their eyes meet, their expressions change and they, once again, perfectly understand each other.

“I think you’re gonna like your Christmas present.” says suddenly the Doc, smiling knowingly at Snafu: “And I suddenly realised I need dough for another batch.” he adds, gesturing for them to get back to work.

Snafu frowns, puzzled. Heffron just smirks, loosening the embrace to pick up the sac a poche of frosting.

“Christmas’s in two days.” points out Snafu, still confused.

“You’ve been a good boy until now, Merriell. You can wait two more days, I’m sure.” winks Gene as Heffron laughs and exclaims: “Oh oh oh!” in a fake booming voice mocking Santa, making Snafu huff and shake his head, somehow fondly.

 

His early Christmas present is a fucking truck.

Not his old ass truck still in repairment, but a new, spit shining olive green truck parked in a garage that’s full of other expensive looking cars.

The Doc has driven him and Heffron out on Christmas morning to get him a new truck and give him his new car keys. Snafu can’t believe any of it.

“You won the lottery!?” asks Snafu, his voice raising to the highest pitch he’s ever heard himself reach.

“I saved up some. And the rest of the family helped.” explains Gene, limitlessly amused for his cousin’s reactions.

“Oh, and it’s fully fueled.” says Heffron, like he just remembered: “Courtesy of the boys.” he adds, referring to all his band of friends from Currahee pub.

“Thank you.” says Snafu, so overwhelmed with gratitude he hugs his cousin close and buries his face in the crook of his neck, possibly the biggest display of affection between them in over a year. Gene holds him back, calmly and soothingly just like always and maybe Heffron coos a little bit behind their back, but they voluntarily overlook that.

“Think you know how you gonna use it first?” asks his cousin when they part, lowering his voice and shaking him slightly with a hand on his shoulder, successfully waking Snafu out of his stupor.

“Yeah. Yeah, think I do.” he realises slowly, a grin spreading on his lips.

“But brunch first.” adds Gene, intransigent: “And then you go and get him.” he orders, but in a far too gentle voice.

“And then I go and get him.” repeats Snafu, taking a deep breath and smiling effortlessly.

 

Christmas brunch comes and goes.

Heffron gets a sweater from Snafu’s aunt, just like any other relative at the table, and Gene comments that one of the cutters Snafu has got him is suspiciously penis-shaped.   
Both Snafu and Heffron have to suppress their hysterical giggles as the whole table gets involved in the debate and the cutter in question gets passed around to be carefully studied by each one of their relatives.

Afterwards, when they’ve finished tidying up and Doc has left for his shift at the hospital, Snafu picks up his bag and a batch of gingerbread cookies ‘from Eugene to Eugene’ and loads them on his new truck, waving at his mother and aunt and at Heffron through the rear mirror.

He takes the highway to Mississippi and suddenly he gets compelled by who knows which force to turn up the radio and let a festive music playlist fill the silence inside the car.

Many times through the whole journey he considers sending a text to Eugene to let him find out about his spur-of-the-moment decision, but he opts for a full surprise in the end and drives without even looking at his phone until he’s almost in Mobile and realises he needs directions.

He texts Phillips.

Phillips doesn’t even bother and calls him to excitedly yell directions through the phone while a girl’s voice (possibly Mary) cries happily in the background about how lucky Eugene is.

In a few minutes he parks in the Sledges driveway and he almost can’t feel the tip of his fingers, still gripping the steering wheel, for how loudly his heartbeat is pounding in his chest and ears.   
It goes tum-tum, tum-tum, tum-tum.

‘ _ your roommates shit at giving direction _ ’ he types and sends in the dim light of the setting sun outside the car. In Sledge’s home, a two-story house with a whole garden surrounding it and a wooden swing hanging from the branch of an old oak tree, some rooms are already lightened up, just like all the Christmas decorations: ‘ _ got lost two times _ ’ he adds.

‘ _ Yeah, he is. I keep him ‘cause he’s got a baseball bat under his bed and his mama’s cooking is heavenly _ ’ replies Eugene and then he asks: ‘ _ Why? Where do you need to go? _ ’ so innocently that Snafu has to chuckle and calm himself down and think once again how much he waited for this, how good it is to be living this moment.

He’s holding his promise, or at least half of it. He’s come to Eugene just like Eugene did for him.

‘ _ had to take my new girl out for a ride _ ’ he writes, quickly adding: ‘ _ look outside _ ’.

He holds his breath, eyes fixed on the Sledge’s front door. After a while it opens and Eugene’s familiar silhouette appear on the threshold, casted in golden shadows by the light shining behind his back.

It’s Snafu’s clue to leave his car and take the brief pathway to the house, his gaze never leaving Eugene’s once they’re completely in each other’s field of vision.

“That’s one hell of a ugly ass sweater, Sledgehamma.” he drawls out, nodding toward Eugene’s choice of clothing and grinning from ear to ear while his whole body starts itching, nervous and expectant.

“Thanks. Wait until you see the socks.” replies the boy and suddenly they’re laughing.

And hugging.

And kissing on Eugene’s porch, on Christmas day.

 

\---

 

**Notes** :

Yeah. Phone sex. Let's be real, it was long overdue. This whole fic is based on texts and phone calls, for fucks sake.  
Hope you liked that and it didn't disappoint. Smut is not my forte (as it should now be quite evident).

There you go, after this I just have to add some French translation.

_Bon pour toi_ = good for you  
 _J'en doute_ = I doubt it  
 _Ta gueule_ = go fuck yourself

Come say hi at @brightly-painted-canvas on tumblr! Let's talk gingerbread cookies recipes and how Babe deserves a fucking hug as well!


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